THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 


NEW  BORZOI  NOVELS 
FALL,  1920 

MOON-CALF 

By  Floyd  Dell 

THE  GATE  OF  IVORY 
By  Sidney  Nyburg 

YOUTH  AND  THE  BRIGHT 
MEDUSA 
By  Willa  Gather 

DEAD  MEN'S  MONEY 
By  J.  S.  Fletcher 

THE  LONG  DIM  TRAIL 
By  Forreitine  Hooker 

BARBARIANS 

From   the  Swedish  of 
K.  G.  Ossiannilsson 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

GEORGE    KIBBE    TURNER 


NEW  YORK    ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF      MCMXX 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 
GEORGE  KIBBE  TURNER 


PMMTK)  IK    TH«   USITSD    STATES    O»   AKXBICA 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 

MY  UNCLE  ATHIEL 
I     THE  DANGER  FROM  THE  SOUTH,  9 
II     GRUMMIT'S  BANK.  22 
III     CLOSED  WINDOWS,  33 

BOOK  II 

THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT 
IV     THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY,  49 
V     THE  NIGHT  AIR,  64 
VI     THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS,  76 

BOOK  III 

THE  SECRET  ROOMS 
VII     SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES!  93 
VIII     THE  TOWER,  106 

IX     THE  LITTLE  BELL,  121 
X     HAGAR'S  HOARD,  137 

BOOK  IV 

THE  HALF  NIGGER 
XI     THE  LIGHTED  MATCH,  151 
XII     THE  BAIT,  163 


1398411 


CONTENTS 

XIII  THE  TEMPTER  OF  THE  DOGS,  172 

XIV  THE  FEVER  FIRE,  179 
XV     THE  TRAP,  190 

BOOK  V 
VANCE  HAGAR 
XVI     THE  HEADACHE,  205 
XVII     THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET,  220 
XVIII     THE  IVORY  ROOM,  234 
XIX     THE  GREEN  FLIES,  245 

BOOK  VI 
DOOMSDAY 

XX  THE  FEVER,  257 

XXI  THE  HOUR  AFTER  MIDNIGHT,  266 

XXII  THE  WHISTLING  DOCTOR.  274 

XXIII  THE  BELL  ROPE,  284 

XXIV  FUGITIVES,  296 


BOOK  I 
MY  UNCLE  ATHIEL 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    DANGER    FROM    THE    SOUTH 

I  WAS  reading  a  piece  in  the  Commercial  Appeal  the 
other  day  about  their  finding  $60,000  in  greenbacks 
in  an  old  miser's  house,  some  of  it  in  those  little 
old  green  shin-plasters  that  go  back  to  Civil  war  time. 
And  I  showed  it  to  my  wife,  and  we  smiled  a  little,  and  then 
grew  sober  right  away  again;  for  it  set  us  thinking  of  my 
Uncle  Athiel  Hagar,  the  miser,  and  the  Yellow  Fever  Year 
of  1878. 

It  was  on  a  Tuesday  that  the  Fever  came.  I  remember 
it  because  it  was  the  day  after  rent  day,  the  last  Monday 
that  my  Uncle  Athiel  ever  gathered  up  his  rents  from  his 
negro  tenements.  I  can  see  him  now,  driving  into  the 
black  alley  that  still  August  evening  —  his  high,  frail,  old, 
mud-stained  buggy  swaying  and  lurching  on  that  old 
wretched  roadway;  and  Dolly,  the  old  horse,  wet  and 
soapy  from  the  hot  weather.  And  my  Uncle,  there  on  the 
worn  and  shiny  seat,  in  his  linen  duster ;  and  the  little  old 
brown  satchel  for  his  collections  in  between  his  feet. 
Every  man  and  boy  and  nigger  in  the  town  knew  the  rig  — 
the  clay-stained,  old,  high  buggy,  with  its  paint  checking 
off,  and  the  little  clay-colored  man,  with  his  bright,  black 
eyes,  and  his  lame  leg  a  little  extended;  and  the  battered 
little  handbag  that  brought  back  his  nigger  rents  on  Mon 
days.  "  Old  Grum,"  they  called  him,  or  "  Grummit  " — 
behind  his  back,  but  never  to  his  face. 

I  went  to  take  the  horse  and  unharness  it.     I  did  a  good 


10  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

lot  of  that  kind  of  work  around  that  place  —  nigger's 
work,  that  other  people  had  their  niggers  do.  But  my 
Uncle  Athiel  had  no  more  niggers  about  his  place  than  he 
had  to.  For  he  said  that  every  nigger  was  a  thief  at 
heart.  And  so,  when  I  came,  he  had  me  do  it;  and  he 
was  mighty  pleased  to  have  me  —  a  lot  more  than  I  was, 
I  want  to  tell  you.  I  was  good  and  tired  of  it.  And  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Vance,  I  wouldn't  have  stayed  there  for 
one  minute. 

"  It's  been  right  hot,"  I  said  to  him,  for  it  certainly  had 
been  a  wicked,  old  hot  day. 

But  my  Uncle  paid  no  more  attention  to  me  than  to  the 
horse.  He  just  turned  and  lifted  out  the  little  satchel 
of  small  change  from  the  negroes'  rent,  and  when  he  had 
got  it: 

"  This  town  is  ruined,"  he  said,  in  a  tiresome  voice,  half 
like  he  was  speaking  to  himself ;  and  walked  on  toward  the 
house.  And  I  stood  there  looking  after  him. 

He  had  been  getting  worse  all  summer  —  down  and 
depressed  one  day,  sharp  and  ugly  the  next  one  —  cross 
as  an  old  dog  on  a  chain.  But  I  had  never  seen  him  just 
like  that  before. 

"  Some  more  money  trouble,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  or 
something  about  the  rents." 

So  then  I  unharnessed  the  old  horse,  and  spanked  her 
into  her  stall  —  slapdash,  like  a  boy  does  things ;  for  in 
spite  of  what  I  thought  about  myself,  I  wasn't  much  more. 
And  my  uncle  moving  so  slowly,  I  wasn't  very  much  be 
hind  him  into  the  side  hall.  He  stepped  up  stairs  to 
leave  his  bag  of  change  in  the  great  Purple  Room  where 
he  slept,  and  to  wash  himself;  and  pretty  soon  I  heard 
the  key  turn  when  he  locked  up  the  Purple  Room  again  as 
he  came  down  to  supper. 

At  supper  time,  too,  he  had  very  little  talk  for  us.     And 


THE  DANGER  FROM  THE  SOUTH          11 

it  seemed  to  me  he  was  way  down  deep  in  one  of  his  gloomy 
fits  when  he  used  to  fret  about  the  poorhouse.  He  was 
a  little  deaf,  my  Uncle,  and  usually,  if  he  was  going  to  talk 
at  all,  he  started  it.  But  if  he  didn't  care  to,  he  sat  there 
silent,  the  way  he  did  that  night,  looking  away  into  that 
country  a  thousand  miles  off,  that  old  folks  build  up  for 
themselves  out  of  their  thoughts  and  memories. 

Yet  that  night  he  was  different  than  he  ever  had  been. 
And  both  Vance  and  I  remembered,  and  spoke  afterward, 
of  the  way  that  finally  he  looked  up  and  said  to  me  a  sec 
ond  time :  "  This  town  is  ruined,"  in  that  tired  monoto 
nous  way  that  deaf  men  talk ;  and  went  on  eating. 

It  came  out  afterward,  like  I  expected,  that  he  had  been 
short  in  his  collections.  His  nigger  tenements  were  about 
all  his  property  he  hadn't  sold  now,  except  that  great 
house  we  lived  in.  But  they  always  had  given  him  more 
trouble,  in  spite  of  the  big  interest  they  brought  in  on  his 
money,  than  anything  he  had  ever  had. 

And  now,  it  seemed,  the  niggers  were  getting  restless, 
like  the  white  folks,  over  all  this  talk  of  Fever;  moving 
around,  getting  more  shiftless  and  trifling  and  excited 
every  day  —  not  from  fear  of  the  Fever,  for  they  weren't 
supposed  to  have  that  then,  but  from  something  else; 
from  God  knows  what  new  crazy  notions  —  like  they  al 
ways  do  at  times  like  that.  And  five  families  of  them  had 
suddenly  disappeared  from  the  tenements  since  just  the 
week  before. 

Yet  that  wasn't  it  entirely,  either.  Both  Vance  and  I 
have  said  so  since  a  hundred  times.  It  didn't  quite  ac 
count  for  the  way  her  father  talked  to  us  that  night, 
after  he  had  finished  up  that  last  round  of  collections  on 
his  tenements,  nor  for  the  way  that  he  turned  and  said 
to  me  a  third  time: 

"  This  town  is  ruined ;  and  we're  ruined  with  it ! " 


12  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

It  came  out  of  him  like  a  groan;  more  like  an  involun 
tary  sign  of  some  deep,  old,  inward  trouble  than  common 
ordinary  speech.  And  he  didn't  even  start  that  talk  he 
used  to  make,  when  he  was  like  .that,  about  how  we  all  of 
us  were  bound  out  to  the  poorhouse.  He  just  sat  silent. 

I  saw  Vance  watching  him  out  of  those  deep  eyes  of 
hers,  stiller  and  more  anxiously  than  she  usually  did. 
She  was  pale,  paler  than  ever  that  night  —  the  heat  prob 
ably,  I  said  to  myself.  Her  lips  were  parted,  and  I  knew 
that  she  was  tired.  But  then,  of  course,  I  didn't  know 
that  other  thing  that  was  really  bothering  her. 

Vance  tried  to  talk  with  both  of  us,  tried  to  talk  and 
make  him  laugh,  but  it  was  too  hard  for  her.  She  was 
tired,  and  her  voice  was  faint ;  and  her  father  didn't  hear 
and  wouldn't  hear,  and  didn't  want  to  talk.  And  so  we 
sat  and  finished  supper,  without  talking.  And  the  room 
went  still,  and  the  daylight  started  dying  down,  and  there 
was  no  noise  from  outside  through  the  windows ;  for  the 
whole  world  was  just  exhausted  and  tired  out,  at  the  end 
of  another  scorching  day.  And  about  the  only  sound 
we  heard  in  that  great  high  room  where  we  sat  was  every 
now  and  then  when  some  fly,  caught  in  on  the  paper  wound 
around  the  chandelier  near  the  ceiling,  started  its  fine, 
high  singing,  and  then  got  still  again. 

"  Come  on  out  now,  Beavis,"  said  Uncle  Hagar,  getting 
up  from  the  table. 

I  knew  then  right  away  what  was  coming.  He  was  go 
ing  out  to  give  the  yard  and  barn  another  going  over  and 
inspection  for  fire  and  thieves.  Once  in  so  often,  when  he 
got  more  than  common  nervous,  he  started  out  on  those 
searching  expeditions  of  his.  But  there  was  never  one 
that  I  remembered  so  thorough,  and  so  long  as  this. 

He  went  ahead  across  the  yard  —  I  can  see  him  so 
much  plainer  than  anything  I  saw  yesterday  —  in  his 


THE  DANGER  FROM  THE  SOUTH          13 

linen  duster,  and  his  wrinkled  linen  trousers,  and  his  old- 
time  boots,  covered  with  that  old,  reddish-yellowish  clay 
dust ;  and  his  great  old  hickory  cane,  smooth  from  twenty 
years  of  wearing  in  his  hands.  And  I  can  see  his  clay- 
colored  face,  and  his  bright  black  eyes,  and  his  smooth 
straight  hair,  still  black;  and  his  close  mouth,  cut  like  a 
bluish  gash  across  his  old  yellow  face. 

I  was  of  no  special  use.  He  had  to  see  everything  for 
himself.  He  went  through  the  shed  and  small  barn  where 
Dolly  was,  around  the  servant's  room  —  everything ;  even, 
at  last,  the  great  empty  barn,  that  we  never  used  and 
opened. 

We  unlocked  the  side  door,  and  stepped  in;  and  the 
dust,  and  the  silence,  and  the  still  dry  air  of.  the  place, 
stood  around  us  —  hot  as  an  old  oven ;  choking  full  with 
the  dusty  smell  of  an  unopened  stable  —  pine  wood  and 
hay,  and  horses,  and  leather  —  all  baked  together. 

We  stood  there  for  a  minute,  looking  around ;  and  then 
my  Uncle  Hagar  started  looking  through  it.  For  he  al 
ways  had  an  idea  that  there  might  be  some  thief  hiding 
there,  some  tramp  or  nigger.  And  more  especially  that 
summer,  when  he  had  that  suspicion  that  there  were  some 
particular  niggers  hanging  around  and  staring  at  the 
house.  Some  particular  niggers,  and  among  them  that 
new  half-nigger  he  had  been  seeing  several  times  lately. 

He  started  hunting  around,  through  all  that  heat,  him 
self.  And  I  did  like  he  told  me  to,  and  stood  below  and 
watched  and  waited  while  he  did  it.  Old,  lame  a  little 
from  that  strain  he  got  when  wrestling  when  a  boy,  going 
sidewise  up  the  stairs  but  walking  right  along  ahead,  his 
thin  mouth  shut,  stern  as  the  wrath  of  God  descending 
on  the  Israelites  in  the  Old  Bible  —  the  old  man  was  a 
figure,  in  spite  of  all  his  years,  that  no  thief  would  want 
to  see  coming  headed  toward  him,  I  believe.  And  es- 


14  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

pecially  when  he  was  carrying  that  great  hickory  cane  of 
his,  and  carrying,  too,  somewhere  in  his  clothes  —  his 
linen  duster  probably  —  that  little  old-time  Derringer 
pistol  of  his  that  he  always  wore  on  him ;  that  once,  they 
said,  he  had  shot  a  man  with. 

Day  and  night  he  had  the  two  of  them  about  him.  At 
night,  I  knew,  there  stood  his  hickory  cane,  set  up  at  the 
head  of  his  bed  —  of  his  great  canopied  bed  in  the  Purple 
Room ;  and  there  underneath  his  pillow,  always  ready,  lay 
that  curious  little  Derringer  of  his,  which  he  bought  first 
when  he  was  a  boy  in  this  rough,  new  Mississippi  River 
country.  Just  a  raw  country  boy,  come  down  here  from 
that  hill  country  to  the  east,  where  they  raise  and  send 
away  the  kind  of  man  he  was. 

You've  seen  them,  I  expect  —  those  lean,  leathern,  clay- 
colored  men,  with  small  round  heads,  and  bright  eyes,  they 
raise  up  there  —  hungry  folks  from  a  hungry  soil,  that 
went  south  and  west,  and  still  go,  for  that  matter,  looking 
for  more  food.  You  find  the  Southwest  full  of  them  — 
these  small-headed  men  from  the  hills  —  with  only  room 
enough  in  those  little  heads  of  theirs  for  a  few  ideas  and 
feelings,  but  those  few  fierce  and  strong.  The  best 
pioneers,  the  best  soldiers,  the  best  enemies  —  and  the  best 
murderers,  I  believe,  the  world  has  ever  seen ! 

"  Nothin',"  said  my  uncle,  going  out  and  locking  the 
barn  door  after  us.  "  Nothin' !  " 

Lord,  what  a  relief  it  was  coming  out  of  that  place! 
Even  the  air  outside  seemed  cool  and  juicy  for  a  little 
while  after  that  old  oven. 

My  uncle  stood  a  while  and  mopped  his  forehead  with 
his  old,  red  handkerchief. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said  then.  "  Let's  go  out  and  see  if 
there's  any  air  stirring  out  on  the  bluff." 

There  wasn't  any.     The  river  lay  there  under  us,  in  the 


THE  DANGER  FROM  THE  SOUTH          15 

twilight,  sleek  as  a  new  glass  bottle  —  not  a  breath  stir 
ring.  And  yet  it  was  cooler  there  always ;  and  I  was  al 
ways  glad  to  be  there. 

We  sat  there,  he  and  I,  side  by  side,  on  that  old  clay 
bluff,  looking  over  the  Mississippi.  I  liked  it  there. 
Coming  from  back  up  inland,  I  never  got  tired  of  it  — 
the  long,  snaky  river,  disappearing  both  ends  into  the 
woods ;  the  everlasting  flat  line  of  tree-tops  over  in  Ar 
kansas  ;  and  the  big  white  steamers  with  their  white  fila 
gree  woodwork,  like  great  wedding  cakes,  upon  the  brown 
colored  water. 

My  uncle  sat  there  several  minutes  silent,  like  he  gen 
erally  did;  took  out  his  tobacco,  and  cut  off  that  little 
tiny  sliver  that  he  always  took  to  chew,  hitched  his  old 
lame  booted  leg  over  the  other,  and  sat  sideways,  looking 
down,  staring  at  the  levee  and  the  city.  After  a  while 
his  mouth  twitched  at  the  corner. 

"  It's  come,"  he  said.     "  It's  here  finally." 

"  What?  "  I  asked  right  away. 

But  before  I  spoke,  I  knew  already  what  he  was  going 
to  say ;  or  I  thought  I  did.  As  hot  as  it  was,  a  cold  flash 
shot  over  me. 

"  The  Fever,"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  still  looking  from 
me  toward  the  town. 

"  I  was  down  in  there  to-day ,"  he  went  on  talking. 
"  It's  here  now ;  and  I  know  it.  They  can  lie  all  they 
want  to." 

I  had  never  seen  the  Fever;  I  wasn't  there  five  years 
before,  the  last  time  they  had  it  there  in  town.  All  the 
dread  I  had  was  from  what  I  heard  and  saw  —  the  fear 
of  other  people's  fear  of  it.  For  I  saw  that  everybody 
stood  there  all  that  summer  through  —  all  the  white  folks 
—  stood  and  watched  and  listened  for  it  like  a  man  at 
night,  out  hunted  by  a  sheriff's  posse. 


16  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

They  said  they  died  like  flies  in  autumn  that  time  be 
fore  —  poor  people  mostly.     They  said  they  buried  them 
in  trenches.     A  tropical  disease,  come  up  the  river  from 
the  South,  in  the  air.     There  was  nothing  you  could  see 
just  this  old  poison  in  the  air  you  breathed.     One  day  you 
were  perfectly  sound  and  well.     And  all  at  once  this  blinc 
headache  took  you.     In  three  days  after  you  were  dead; 
and  in  three  hours  more  a  coffinful  of  black  jelly  —  your 
flesh  dropping  from  your  bones  out  in  the  graveyard. 

"  They  can't  fool  me,"  my  Uncle  Athiel  went  along. 
"  It's  there  right  now.  They  can't  fool  me  with  their 
lies,  and  the  other  fancy  names  they  give  it.  I've  seen 
it  too  many  times.  It's  smoldering  down  there  in  a  dozen 
places  now. 

"  Right  there,"  he  said,  and  pointed  with  his  cane. 
And  as  it  turned  out  afterwards  he  was  right.  It  was 
right  there,  just  where  he  pointed. 

"  Yes,  and  half  a  dozen  people,"  he  went  on,  "  are  dead 
already,  though  they  won't  admit  it.  They  won't  say  it 
was  the  Fever  that  killed  them." 

His  eyes  shone,  his  mouth  worked  at  one  corner.  The 
fear  of  the  Yellow  Fever,  which  lay  twitching  at  the  nerves 
of  every  white  man  in  the  town,  had  touched  him.  I  could 
see  it.  And  I  was  quite  a  lot  surprised.  For  he  had  al 
ways  said  it  was  nothing  to  be  scared  of. 

"  That  ends  it,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  letting  his  cane 
drop  back  to  the  ground  again ;  "  that  ends  it !  This 
town  is  done  for ! " 

I  sat  silent  —  thinking  of  the  Fever,  of  the  death  in 
the  air,  which  we  had  been  watching  for  and  fearing  all 
that  summer.  I  was  wondering  if  he  really  knew;  if  in  a 
week  or  two  it  would  be  all  around  us. 

And  as  I  thought,  my  Uncle  Athiel  cracked  out  that  old 


THE  DANGER  FROM  THE  SOUTH          17 

common  oath  he  usually  gave  when  he  had  used  up  all 
the  rest. 

"  By  Judas  H.  Iscariot,"  he  said.     "  Done  for !  " 

And  after  a  while  he  went  on,  speaking  out  his  thoughts. 
"  I've  seen  property  go  down  and  down  year  after  year. 
Down,  down !  It's  down  already  next  to  nothing.  And 
now  this  ends  it." 

I  woke  up  from  my  own  thoughts  then,  and  looked  at 
him.  For  he  talked  in  such  a  dead,  old,  doleful  voice,  I 
had  to.  And  I  saw  right  away,  what  I  ought  to  have 
known  at  first.  It  wasn't  the  fear  of  Fever  that  was 
scaring  him  at  all.  It  was  that  same  old  fear  he  always 
had,  about  his  money.  "  His  property,"  he  always 
called  it. 

Everybody  to  their  own  mind,  of  course,  even  to  the 
things  they  are  scared  of.  I  thought  that  to  myself  as 
I  sat  there,  looking  at  him. 

I  sat  there,  a  stranger  almost,  in  this  new  country  — 
thinking  and  wondering  about  that  Fever,  and  what  I  had 
seen  and  heard  of  it,  and  what  it  really  was.  I  didn't 
know  one  thing  about  it ;  I  had  never  been  Where  it  was  in 
my  whole  life.  I  only  saw  the  fear  of  it  around  me,  in 
other  people's  eyes. 

But  I  knew  that  all  around  me  those  folks  were  stand 
ing  nervous,  jumpy  with  fear  —  of  that  danger  that  was 
coming  from  the  South ;  touched  with  the  fear  of  death. 
And  even  I  myself  was  not  free  from  it  now. 

And  here  beside  me  sat  this  man,  shaky  and  sharp- 
voiced  too  —  but  not  at  all  from  what  was  scaring  all 
the  rest  —  not  a  particle  from  fear  of  death.  After  him, 
as  I  know  now  —  though  I  did  not  then  —  was  a  more 
ceaseless,  monstrous,  hounding  fear,  that,  once  set  on 
men's  trails,  comes  driving  them  faster  and  faster  as  the 


18  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

years  go  by  —  till  finally  it  drives  them  shivering  out  of 
life  itself :  The  money  fear ;  the  fear  of  loss  and  poverty. 
And  we  all  get  it  following  us,  more  or  less,  all  of  us,  I 
believe,  in  our  old  age. 

But  naturally,  I  didn't  understand  it  then.  You  never 
do  when  you  are  young.  So  I  sat  and  watched  him  from 
the  corner  of  my  eye,  curious ;  his  yellow  face,  his  straight 
hair  and  the  big  old  waxen  yellow  ear  that  was  toward 
me  —  thinking  then  how  strange  he  was.  For  it  was  plain 
enough  that  he  was  just  swept  out  of  himself  with  excite 
ment. 

"  All  the  summer,"  he  went  on,  "  I've  seen  it  coming  up. 
All  this  summer,  long  before  I  sold  my  block. 

"  I  sold  it  out,  and  took  my  loss,"  he  went  on  talking 
to  himself.  "  Five  thousand  dollars  —  five  thousand  un 
der  what  I  paid  for  it. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars,"  he  said  over  to  himself  un 
derneath  his  breath,  and  called  out  his  old  Iscariot  oath 
again. 

"  I'm  glad  I  done  it.  I'm  glad  I  took  it  now,"  he  said 
suddenly  and  stiffened  up.  "  That's  five  thousand  dol 
lars  more  than  anybody'd  give  for  it  to-day.  No,  sir,  you 
couldn't  get  rid  of  it  this  minute  —  no,  not  for  love  nor 
money." 

I  sat  looking  at  him  corner-wise,  wondering  where  his 
excitement  was  going  to  take  him  to.  Never  once  in  all 
the  time  that  I  was  there  had  he  talked  to  me  so  direct 
and  straight  about  his  money.  Complaints  and  groans, 
and  prophecies  of  the  poorhouse  —  plenty ;  but  never  once 
such  clear  and  open  talk  of  any  sums  of  money  he  might 
have. 

But  then,  for  several  minutes  after  that,  my  Uncle 
Hagar  went  on  talking  about  the  ruin  of  himself  and  of 
the  city. 


THE  DANGER  FROM  THE  SOUTH          19 

The  place  was  ruined  utterly,  now  and  forever. 
Ruined,  busted,  done  for.  No  business,  nothing.  No  one 
to  buy  and  no  one  to  sell.  "  Two  weeks  from  now,"  he 
said,  "  there  won't  be  one  merchant  solvent  in  this  town." 

And  the  banks,  he  said,  were  sure  to  go.  And  he  was 
damned  glad  of  it.  He  always  cursed  the  banks,  and 
those  that  ran  them. 

"  For  do  you  know  what's  going  to  happen  here  ?  "  he 
asked  me. 

I  told  him  that  I  didn't,  though  I  expected  that  I 
really  did. 

"  Everybody's  going  to  leave  this  town  at  once,"  he 
said ;  "  all  the  white  folks.  They're  all  going  out  of 
here  together  like  a  flock  of  lunatics. 

"  And  then,"  he  said,  his  voice  rising  up ;  "  then,  do  you 
know  what  will  be  left  here  ?  " 

"What  will?"  I  asked  him. 

"  Thieves  and  niggers  —  that's  all,"  said  my  Uncle 
Athiel.  "  Thieves  and  niggers  —  in  an  empty  town !  " 

I'd  never  seen  him  anything  like  that  before.  There 
was  color  in  his  old  yellow  face,  even  in  that  tallow-colored 
ear  toward  me.  I  saw  the  blood  come  up  into  it  and  turn 
it  lifelike.  He  swung  suddenly  and  stared  with  his  bright 
eyes  into  my  face. 

"  This  town  is  full  of  thieves !  "  my  Uncle  Hagar  said. 

I  started  back  a  little  —  he  put  his  face  so  close  up  to 
mine. 

"  Full  of  thieves,"  he  said  to  me,  and  I  sat,  saying 
nothing,  waiting. 

"  Lemme  ask  you  something,"  he  said,  talking  on.  "  I 
want  to  ask  you  somethin'.  Do  you  imagine  we're  the 
only  ones  that's  talking  and  whispering  in  this  town  — 
right  now ! " 

And  I  didn't  know  what  to  say  to  him. 


20  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

But  he  didn't  care  at  all,  I  expect,  whether  I  talked  or 
not. 

"  Look  yonder,  look  down  there,"  said  he,  pointing 
north  again  with  that  great  heavy  cane  of  his,  to  that 
long  ragged  line  of  old  brick  blocks  —  that  rendezvous  of 
niggers  and  thieves  —  the  bad  niggers,  and  the  murderers 
and  the  nigger  thieves. 

"  What  do  you  think  —  what  do  you  think  they're  talk 
ing  of  to-night?  "  asked  my  Uncle  Athiel,  pointing.  "  All 
those  hungry  fellows  over  there?  " 

You  know  what  the  levee  was  those  days  —  snack 
houses,  and  bawdy  houses,  and  sudden  lights  opened  into 
the  darkness ;  and  dead  niggers  in  the  alleys  in  the  morn 
ing.  A  desperate  place. 

"  Lemme  tell  you  somethin',"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  an 
swering  himself.  "  They  know  it's  coming.  They  know 
it's  here.  They're  down  there  just  waitin',  watchin'. 
They're  all  waitin',  watchin' —  all  over  town  —  waitin' 
for  it  to  break  loose !  " 

I  thought  then  —  of  the  negroes  especially  —  while  he 
was  talking.  For  I  knew  he  was  thinking  mostly  of  them 
himself.  The  niggers  and  the  way  they  acted.  Their 
bowing  and  scraping;  and  underneath  it  all,  their  watch 
ing  ways  —  their  great  brown  eyes  forever  following  you 
around.  All  just  standing  there,  and  watching  you  al 
ways,  and  more  than  ever  when  your  back  was  turned  — 
standing,  watching,  saying  nothing.  I  was  raised  out  to 
the  east,  where  they  didn't  have  so  many.  I  never  could 
get  used  to  them  —  to  that  great  black  herd  of  them  in 
Memphis,  especially. 

"  You  see  those  paths  ?  "  my  Uncle  asked  me,  suddenly 
jerking  out  toward  them  with  his  cane. 

The  things  went  in  and  out;  up  and  down  and  criss- 


21 

cross,  twisting  and  turning  and  going  around  to  their 
unseen  endings  down  the  bluff. 

"  Judas ! "  my  Uncle  said,  "  an  honest  man  never 
stepped  in  one.  Every  one  of  them  was  beaten  by  the  feet 
of  thieves." 

He  stopped  and  turned  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Niggers  and  thieves,"  he  said.  "  Niggers  and  thieves, 
watchin'  and  waitin' —  and  whisperin'.  This  town  is  full 
of  thieves  —  right  now,"  he  said  again,  and  his  voice  grew 
every  minute  sharper. 

"Right  now!"  he  said  again,  and  jumped  up  on  his 
feet. 

"  Come  on  now,"  he  said.  "  Come  on  along.  It's  get- 
tin'  late," —  and  started  out  toward  home. 

He  had  only  gone  a  rod  or  two  when  he  stopped  and 
stared  at  me  again. 

"  We  got  to  keep  our  eye  peeled,"  said  my  Uncle 
Hagar.  "  We  got  to  keep  our  eye  peeled  from  now  on !  " 

He  turned,  and  I  came  after  him,  knowing  just  exactly 
how  he  felt,  feeling  it  myself.  For  if  they  were  talking 
down  there,  like  he  said  they  were;  if  they  were  talking 
of  anybody,  they  certainly  were  talking  about  us  —  and 
about  my  Uncle's  house. 


CHAPTER  II 

GRUMMIT'S  BANK 

COUNTING  the  thoughts  of  everybody  —  black 
and  white  together  —  I  expect  my  Uncle  Athiel 
was  the  best-known  man  in  Memphis  those  days 
—  and  the  most  talked  about.  The  negroes  stopped  and 
watched  him,  and  the  boys,  as  he  drove  around  town  in 
that  high  old  rickety  buggy  of  his ;  Mondays  especially, 
after  his  collections,  with  that  little  old  brown  satchel 
between  his  feet.  And  they  whispered  after  him  that  name 
they  gave  him;  Grummit,  old  Grummit,  and  of  all  the 
money  he  had  hidden  away.  For  everybody  said  he  was 
the  worst  old  miser  in  Memphis. 

I  expect  most  folks,  from  other  sections  of  the  country, 
don't  believe  there  are  any  more  old  misers  now,  outside 
the  story  books.  But  it  is  different  with  us  down  South, 
or  it  was  until  here  just  a  few  years  ago.  For  there  was 
a  plenty  of  them  in  that  country  I  came  from  when  I  was 
a  boy,  and  all  through  Tennessee  everywhere  —  and  in 
Memphis,  too.  Every  little  town  and  cross-roads  village 
had  one,  just  as  much  as  they  had  their  town  drunkard. 
And  the  miser  and  his  house  were  known  just  as  well  as 
he  was. 

And  now,  when  you  stop  to  think  of  it,  this  was  all  per-, 
fectly  natural  and  to  be  expected.  All  during  the  war 
time,  nothing  was  safe  in  our  country.  The  thieves  from 
the  North  and  the  thieves  from  the  South  were  all  turned 
loose  on  us  by  war.  And  so  all  kinds  of  folks  got  into 

22 


the  habit  then  of  digging  their  money  into  the  ground, 
or  hiding  it  around  the  house  to  save  it.  And  then  right 
after  the  war  came  the  banks  failing.  There  were  a 
great  number  of  banks  failed  —  and  some  of  them  in  the 
most  scoundrelly  kind  of  way.  And  one  natural  result 
of  all  this,  like  I  said,  was  to  breed  these  old  misers  with  us. 

It  was  one  of  these  bank  failures  after  the  war,  I  know, 
that  turned  my  Uncle  Athiel  to  his  habits,  more  than  any 
one  of  his  other  losses ;  and  gave  his  house  —  that  great 
brick  house  of  his  —  its  curious  name  and  reputation. 

I  never  knew  all  the  story.  But  I  do  know  he  was 
caught  in  this  big  bank  failure  a  little  after  war  time  — 
the  smash  of  the  great  Mr.  Bozro's  bank.  And  from  that 
time  on  he  never  spoke  of  banks  without  cursing  them. 

"  A  bank,"  I  heard  him  say  a  dozen  times,  "  is  a  place 
where  they  take  your  money  and  keep  it." 

And  bankers,  so  he  said,  were  the  only  men  on  earth 
who  got  the  Saviour  mad  enough  to  strike  them. 

"  He  knew  what  he  was  about,"  he  said  with  a  great 
common  oath.  "  He  only  knew  how  much  they  deserved 
it." 

And  for  ten  years  he  had  never  set  his  foot  inside  a 
bank,  except  when  he  had  to,  when  he  went  to  change 
money  there;  to  change  his  silver  and  little  bills  for  big 
ones.  I  wondered  sometimes  how  they  did  it  for  him, 
after  what  he  said  of  them.  And  he  never  would  leave  one 
dollar  there. 

Now  everybody  knew  all  this  and  talked  about  it.  And 
everybody  knew  that  he  had  money.  They  saw  him  gath 
ering  all  those  years  and  never  spending.  And  they  knew 
it  must  be  somewhere.  And  it  was  for  that  reason,  I 
expect,  that  after  a  while  that  great  house  of  his  got  its 
name.  For  everybody  —  when  I  was  first  there  —  called 
it  Grummit's  Bank. 


24  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

There  had  always  been  stories  about  that  great  house 
since  its  building  —  since  Mr.  Bozro  first  built  it.  For 
he  was  a  great  man  in  his  day,  and  very  much  talked 
about.  But  all  the  older  ideas  were  lost  and  half  for 
gotten  now  in  that  last  one  which  gave  it  that  new  name 
that  it  was  known  by. 

In  a  way,  if  you  wanted  to  think  about  it  so,  it  did 
look  a  little  like  a  bank  from  the  outside  —  more  than 
like  a  dwelling  —  or,  anyhow,  I  got  to  think  so.  Very 
big  —  as  big  almost  as  a  Main  Street  block  was  those 
days,  and  very  solid.  Thick  heavy  walls  of  brick,  lumpy 
trimmings,  standing  out  beneath  the  eaves,  all  brick;  and 
brick  eyebrows  over  all  the  windows;  and  blind  windows 
—  blind  empty  niches,  built  for  statuary  that  was  never 
made,  they  said;  but  looking  more,  it  always  seemed  to 
me,  like  they  were  just  made  to  show  how  thick  and  heavy 
those  brick  walls  were.  And  a  slate  roof,  French  style; 
and  an  eight-sided,  sloping  tower,  covered  with  gray 
rounded  slates,  and  two  round  eyelike  windows  —  for  all 
the  world  like  an  old  gray  owl,  sitting  up  there  over  the 
front  door.  And  it  seemed  to  me,  like  I  told  you,  and 
does  now,  more  like  an  old  bank  than  a  house. 

Anyhow  that's  what  they  call  it,  Grummit's  Bank,  and 
they  had  all  manner  of  stories  about  it.  But  the  chief 
one  —  that  was  in  everybody's  mouth,  the  one  all  the  rest 
started  from  —  was  that  somewhere,  hidden  away  in  it, 
my  Uncle  Athiel  Hagar  had  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
in  greenbacks. 

Just  where  that  tale  of  Hagar's  Hoard  of  Greenbacks 
started  from;  just  why  it  was  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
always ;  and  why  it  was  always  greenbacks  and  not  gold 
-  I  didn't  know.  And  nobody  could  tell  me  —  or  could 
have  told  me  —  if  I  had  had  any  one  to  ask.  But  it  was 
something  everybody  believed  and  talked  about  so  com- 


GRUMMIT'S  BANK  25 

mon,  that  we  heard  it  ourselves.  Even  my  Uncle  Athiel 
heard  it. 

And  when  he  did,  he  was  always  in  a  great  hurry  to 
deny  it.  It  always  excited  him  and  made  him  mad.  It 
was  about  the  only  thing  I  knew  of  that  ever  set  him 
talking.  But  it  always  did. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  dollars,'*  he  said  to  me  more 
times  than  once  in  those  few  months  that  I've  been  here; 
"  I  wish  to  God  I  had  a  hundred  thousand  cents.  So  I 
could  be  sure  I  wouldn't  spend  my  last  days  in  the  poor- 
house." 

For  even  then  —  in  those  first  months  that  I  knew  him 
—  he  would  now  and  then,  when  he  grew  excited,  or  things 
had  gone  against  him,  start  up  that  talk  of  poorhouse  and 
poverty.  Bitter  and  angry,  generally,  but  sometimes 
down-hearted  and  depressed.  But  so  earnest  always,  that 
it  seemed  he  almost  believed  in  it  himself. 

More  generally  he  would  talk  and  go  on  about  the  poor- 
house.  But  there  were  other  things  he  turned  to  some 
times,  especially  to  the  losses  he  had,  and  once  or  twice, 
I  remember,  he  got  started  talking  of  all  the  money  he 
had  lost  in  that  old  Confederate  currency. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  dollars,  huh !  "  he  said.  "  I  ex 
pect  they  mean  Confederate  money." 

And  starting  then,  he  railed  and  cursed  the  war,  and 
both  the  North  and  South.  Grant  for  attacking  and 
Lee  for  surrendering  —  anything  that  made  all  that  old 
Confederate  money  worthless. 

For  he  had  got  great  quantities  of  it,  so  Vance  told 
me  once,  toward  the  end  of  the  war;  bundles  of  it  —  hold 
ing  on  to  it,  thinking  it  might  after  all  be  worth  a  little 
something.  It  made  him  very  bitter  talking  of  it. 

Sometimes  he  would  deny  that  story  one  way ;  sometimes 
another.  But  he  would  always  deny  it  some  way;  I 


26  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

couldn't  help  but  notice  that  myself.     That  old  story  of 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  —  the  faintest  mention  of  it 

—  would  get  him  mad  and  excited  almost  any  time.     And 
sometimes  he  would  even  bring  it  up  himself. 

"  I  wish  I  could  catch  the  torn  fool  that  started  that 
a-going,"  I've  heard  him  saying.  And  if  he  could  have, 
there  would  have  been  plenty  of  trouble  for  somebody. 

But  nobody  started  it,  I  expect;  it  just  grew.  Yet  no 
one  could  be  got  to  doubt  it  either.  That  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  was  just  as  much  a  fact  in  the  minds  of  every 
body,  and  a  hundred  times  as  well  known,  as  the  money  in 
the  safe  of  any  bank  in  town. 

Now,  ready  money  was  scarce  in  the  South  those  days, 
you  may  remember,  and  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in 
cash,  right  there,  made  Rothschild,  whom  we  used  to  talk 
about  when  I  was  a  boy,  instead  of  Rockefeller,  look 
mighty  thin  and  far  away.  And  so,  in  spite  of  all  our 
pinching,  and  all  our  small  and  shabby  way  of  living, 
that  house  of  ours  —  old  Grummit's  Bank  —  stood  up 
there  on  a  bluff  like  the  city  on  a  hill  that  could  never 
be  hid,  in  the  New  Testament. 

Everybody  knew  it;  everybody  talked  about  it.  The 
boys  in  the  street  even  used  to  whisper  of  it,  resting  after 
play. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  dollars !  A  hundred  thousand 
dollars!  If  you  had  it,  what  would  you  do?  " 

They  couldn't  imagine,  any  of  them.     Poor  ragamuffins 

—  poorer  than  Job  —  most  all  of  them.     They  didn't  see 
a  two-bit  piece  once  a  year.     And  they  would  say  all 
manner  of  wild  and  foolish  and  extravagant  things  about 
it.     It  was  like  a  story  to  them,  I  expect,  and  our  old 
place  the  ogre's  castle  in  a  fairy  tale.     They  walked  by 
very  serious ;  and  whispered,  looking  out  the  sides  of  their 
eyes   at  the  tower  and  the   closed  windows,  and  drawn 


GRUMMIT'S  BANK  27 

shades.  For  the  house  was  so  big,  we  kept  a  good  share 
of  it  closed  continually. 

It  was  funny  to  me  when  I  thought  of  it.  I  had  been 
there  for  months  now  and  I  knew  just  nothing  at  all  about 
my  Uncle's  money  business.  But  the  boys  and  niggers 
knew  it  all  —  how  much  it  was,  how  it  was  in  greenbacks 
and  not  in  gold,  and  why  —  and  a  great  lot  of  other  in 
formation. 

But  the  most  curious  idea  of  all  to  me  —  that  all  the 
negroes  and  the  children  had  —  was  the  story  of  where 
he  kept  this  hoard  of  his.  Having  it  there,  I  expect,  they 
had  to  know  just  where  it  was  and  how  he  watched  it. 
So  they  said  he  had  it  in  the  tower.  I  heard  that  story 
several  times  myself. 

I  sat  once,  I  remember,  in  the  darkened  saloon  parlor, 
beside  a  window  opened  in  the  front.  The  blinds  were 
shut,  and  through  them  I  saw  and  overheard  these  boys, 
two  boys,  one  ten  or  twelve  perhaps,  the  other  maybe 
eight  —  looking  up,  and  talking  of  our  tower. 

"  I  wonder  if  he's  shut  up  there  now,"  said  the  bigger 
boy,  looking. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  the  little  spring  piping  one. 

"  Old  Grummit." 

"What's  he  doing  there?"  said  the  little  one  after  a 
long  while  —  and  gazed  up  wondering. 

"  He  sits  there ;  he  sits  there  counting  it,"  the  bigger 
one  went  on  telling  him,  as  certain  as  Revelation.  And 
they  stood  there,  both  of  them,  quite  a  while,  looking, 
silent  —  and  I  listening  to  them,  trying  not  to  laugh. 

But  that  idea  about  the  tower  I  knew  was  common,  all 
over  everywhere.  And  the  ridiculous  part  of  it  to  me 
was,  in  all  the  time  that  I'd  been  there  in  the  house,  I'd 
never  known  my  old  uncle  to  go  up  into  the  old  tower 
once.  And  yet  all  that  time,  that  was  the  commonest  and 


28  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

most  talked  of  all  the  stories  of  that  house  of  ours  among 
the  boys  and  niggers. 

For  it  wasn't  only  boys  that  talked  about  all  this. 
There  were  plenty  of  others  besides  boys  who  talked  of 
Grummit's  Bank.  We  knew  that,  all  of  us.  There  wasn't 
a  thieving  negro  in  the  town,  who  didn't  lie  and  dream 
about  that  house  of  ours.  It  was  thieves'  talk  in  the  dens 
along  the  levee.  And  the  rousters  on  the  steamboats 
leaned  over  the  rail  and  stared  at  it,  going  by  on  the 
Mississippi.  It  was  as  prominent  in  the  minds  of  that 
low  class  of  population  as  the  Louisiana  lottery.  And  we 
knew  it. 

A  hundred  thousand  dollars !  There  it  was,  in  there 
somewhere!  If  you  could  find  it  and  steal  it.  There  it 
was  —  just  for  the  reaching  out  of  hand  and  taking  it. 
And  then,  thieves'  paradise,  eating  and  gambling  and 
drinking  and  women  forever! 

We  knew  all  this,  I  say,  or  enough  of  it  anyway.  And 
it  had,  I  know,  its  influence  upon  us  every  day  in  our 
lives  —  on  all  three  of  us.  And  yet  I  can  say  right  truth 
fully,  that  on  that  day  —  the  last  day  before  the  Fever 
came,  I,  on  the  inside  of  the  house,  knew  less  than  every 
body  seemed  to  know  from  the  outside.  There  was  money 
there,  I  believed.  How  much,  I  didn't  know,  nor  where  it 
was. 

But  I  had  been  there  only  a  few  months  then ;  it  was 
less  than  a  year  that  my  mother  died ;  and  I  didn't  know 
for  certain,  anything  to  speak  of.  All  that  I  did  learn 
was  from  what  little  I  might  hear  about  my  Uncle's  busi 
ness  —  which  was  as  little  as  he  would  let  me ;  and  what 
I  couldn't  help  but  see  of  his  curious  actions  about  the 
house  —  that  great  old  house ;  the  way  he  hated  it,  and 
cursed  it,  and  watched  it. 

He  hated,  in  the  first  place,  the  very  mind  that  con- 


GRUMMIT'S  BANK  29 

ceived  it,  and  the  way  it  was  brought  forth.  For  it  was 
built,  a  monument  to  himself,  by  that  great  Southern 
financier,  Mr.  Bozro,  that  they  talked  about  so  much,  till 
his  great  bank  failed  after  the  war ;  the  man  whose  failure 
had  robbed  my  Uncle  Hagar  of  so  much  money. 

I  never  saw  the  man ;  he  was  dead  long  before  I  got 
there.  And  all  I  knew  is  what  they  said  of  him.  A  little 
man,  very  spic  and  span  and  dressy;  and  monstrously 
conceited. 

"  He  looked  just  like  Napoleon,"  they  used  to  say  about 
him  —  and  laugh.  For  they  said  they  really  thought  he 
did. 

Now,  that  great  house  of  his  he  had  built  to  be  the 
finest  in  the  land,  taking  the  patterns  of  it  from  great 
houses  he  had  seen  abroad  —  especially  in  France,  they 
said.  But  he  didn't  get  to  use  it  long,  before  it  ruined 
him  —  it  and  all  the  other  grand  manners  he  had  given 
himself.  And  they  found  him  shot  one  morning  —  dead 
by  his  own  hand  in  the  great  canopied  bed  of  the  Purple 
Bedroom  he  had  built  for  himself.  And  his  bank  and  all 
his  other  enterprises,  blown  sky-high  —  all  gone. 

It  was  in  this  grand  smash  of  Mr.  Bozro  —  bank,  prop 
erty  and  all  —  that  my  Uncle  had  been  caught,  as  I  told 
you  —  not  once  but  all  around.  He  lost  this  big  lot  of 
money  in  the  bank  to  start  with;  and  then  in  the  ruina 
tion  of  Mr.  Bozro's  personal  business  which  came  with 
it,  my  Uncle  Athiel  had  been  caught  again  —  twice  caught. 
For  first  he  had  to  take  this  house  over  on  a  mortgage, 
for  a  personal  debt,  the  house  and  all  its  furniture,  and 
secondly,  he  had  to  keep  it.  No  one  could  use  the  thing. 
It  was  too  big.  There  was  no  sale  at  any  price  for  it. 
So  at  last  we  three,  my  uncle,  his  daughter,  Vance,  and 
I,  when  I  first  came  there,  were  forced  to  occupy  this  great 
place  to  save  it.  And  the  monument  which  the  great  local 


30  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

financier  had  built  to  draw  the  forefingers  of  all  passers- 
by  to  it,  and  exalt  his  name  forever,  now  kept  his  memory 
green  in  one  mind  only  —  my  Uncle's ;  and  that  in  a 
manner  it  was  scarcely  worth  while  building  houses  to 
secure. 

"  I  wish  that  I  was  God  for  twenty  minutes,"  I've  heard 
my  Uncle  say  —  a  number  of  times.  "  I'd  fix  him." 

He  didn't  say  it  often.  It  broke  out  of  him,  prin 
cipally,  when  there  were  repairs  to  be  paid  for,  on  the 
house,  or  when  the  tax  bills  came.  For  the  taxes  were 
monstrous  those  days. 

"  I'd  see  him  fry  in  Hell  a  million  years,"  he  said,  "  and 
this  thing  with  him  !  " 

For  never,  I  believe,  when  he  once  fixed  his  hate  upon 
a  man,  did  he  forgive  anybody  anything.  Forgiveness 
wasn't  in  his  blood. 

It  was  this  hate,  I  noticed,  first,  like  I  said.  It  came 
principally,  of  course,  from  the  money  that  old  place 
had  cost  him.  But  then  I  noticed,  right  away,  how,  with 
all  his  hatred  of  the  house,  he  guarded  it:  The  locked 
door  to  the  Purple  Room,  which  he  slept  in;  his  fear  of 
fire;  his  rule  against  all  niggers  in  the  house  as  far  as 
possible  —  for  all  but  that  one,  that  one  religious  darkey, 
Arabella.  And  always,  his  great  care  in  locking  and 
keeping  that  great  house  locked  up  day  and  night.  And 
that  perpetual  warning  he  had  given  me  ever  since  I  came 
there  to  keep  my  eye  peeled  —  keep  my  eye  peeled  for 
fire  and  thieves. 

And  now,  since  the  Yellow  Fever  had  started  up  the 
river  from  New  Orleans,  the  fear  and  anxiousness  of  my 
uncle  for  that  house  had  grown  continually ;  and  naturally 
his  growing  fussiness  had  its  effect  on  us.  He  was  very 
shrewd  at  seeing  things.  He  had  told  us  from  the  first 
that  the  disease  was  surely  coming;  and  when  it  did  come 


GRUMMITS  BANK  31 

crawling  up  towards  us,  nearer  and  nearer,  his  mind  dwelt 
more  and  more,  not  so  much  on  the  danger  of  death,  as 
the  disorder  and  loss  and  thievery  that  was  coming  out  of 
it.  And  it  all  naturally  had  its  effect  on  us. 

I  know  that  all  those  weeks  the  sense  of  watchfulness, 
and  the  feeling  of  being  watched,  too,  grew  upon  us. 
Every  now  and  then  we  got  an  idea  that  some  one,  some 
particular  person,  was  watching  us.  You  couldn't  help 
it  —  especially  when  my  Uncle  was  continually  noticing 
these  folks,  folks  that  were  watching  us,  or  that  he  thought 
were. 

There  was  an  old  nigger  that  started  coming  to  the 
back  door  I  remember  —  an  old  shambling  nest  of  rags 
with  a  big  veined  coarse  skinned,  black  hand  stretching 
out  of  it;  and  the  tiresome  mumbling  whine  of  those  old 
time  nigger  beggars. 

"  Please  give  th'  ole  man  a  nickel,  boss.  Please  give  th' 
ole  man  a  nickel?  " 

He  had  two  trips  for  nothing;  and  the  third  my  Uncle 
sent  him  off  a  flying. 

Then  there  was  later  on  that  half  nigger,  whom  my 
Uncle  saw  several  times  —  that  big  half  nigger  on  the 
bluff  behind  us  whittling  with  his  great  cotton  knife  — 
looking.  That  made  more  of  an  impression  on  me.  I 
never  saw  him  myself,  but  I  heard  my  Uncle  talk  of  him  a 
number  of  times.  And  I  kept  looking  out  for  him  and 
never  finding  him. 

You  understand  that  river  was  an  ugly  place  those 
times.  We  were  nearer  pioneer  days  then.  There  was 
violence  and  murder,  free  and  open  in  those  river  towns. 
And  I  remember  their  saying  that  down  town  in  Memphis 
there  wasn't  one  street  corner  but  what  some  one  had 
been  murdered  on. 

For  that  matter  the  Mississippi  was  always  a  kind  of 


thieves'  highway  and  is  to-day.  But  nothing  to  those  old 
steamboat  times.  Thieves  and  murderers,  local  and  im 
ported  too,  moved  South  and  North,  searching,  finding, 
trading  and  escaping  on  the  river.  And  we  sat  there  on 
the  edge  of  this  ugly  path  of  secret  travelers.  And  down 
on  the  levee  were  their  well  known  haunts  and  stopping 
places.  We  could  see  them  from  our  upper  windows. 
And  all  over  that  town  was  the  poverty  that  came  after  the 
war.  The  thousand  hands  of  poverty  —  of  negroes  es 
pecially  —  stretching  out ;  begging  and  picking  and  steal 
ing.  I  never  could  get  used  to  them  —  that  black  herd 
of  niggers  there  in  Memphis.  Ragged,  limping,  consump 
tive;  laughing,  crying,  gorging,  and  starving  by  turns, 
like  savages;  but  everlastingly  on  the  edge  of  want. 

So  it  is  little  wonder  to  me  now,  when  I  think  of  it,  and 
know  all  I  do  to-day,  that  my  Uncle  was  so  careful  watch 
ing  his  house  and  property  —  night  and  day  —  and  es 
pecially  those  days  of  the  coming  of  the  Fever. 


CHAPTER  III 

CLOSED    WINDOWS 

SO  then  my  Uncle  Athiel  turned  and  went  back  home ; 
and  the  great  house  loomed  up  before  us,  dark  and 
ugly  as  a  great  old  mausoleum  in  a  grave  yard. 
And  just  before  we  came  to  it —  across  the  alley,  and  into 
the  back  yard  —  the  only  light  that  we  could  see  went 
out,  and  Arabella,  the  negro  servant,  came  out  and  locked 
the  door;  and  started  down  the  path  to  the  great  serv 
ant's  room  by  the  alley,  where  she  spent  her  nights  alone 
—  her  two  dogs  walking  with  her. 

"  All  locked  up  ?  "  asked  my  Uncle. 

"  Yassah,"  said  Arabella,  not  even  looking  at  him. 

She  was  one  of  these  sanctified  niggers.  Nothing  ever 
troubled  her.  Her  face  was  just  as  round  and  smooth  and 
peaceful  as  an  apple;  not  an  expression  in  it,  only  that 
faint  old  smile  those  religious  niggers  have  —  the  kind 
that  know  they're  sanctified,  and  sure  of  going  to  Heaven. 
Curious  acting  things,  when  you  see  them  first,  but  the 
most  honest  of  the  lot.  And  I  know  for  a  fact  my  Uncle 
hired  this  one  for  just  that  reason.  She  was  the  only 
nigger  he  would  have  in  his  house.  And  he  had  her  just 
because  he  knew  that  she  was  a  sanctified  nigger.  He 
>ld  me  so. 

"  Look  here,"  said  my  Uncle  to  her ;  "  you're  lettin* 
those  dogs  loose  in  the  yard  every  night,  now,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Yassah,"  said  Arabella,  walking  right  along  ahead. 
Her  voice  was  just  as  smooth  and  calm  and  peaceful  as 
her  face. 

33 


34  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Look  out  you  do,"  said  my  Uncle. 

Arabella  and  her  two  dogs  went  straight  along  ahead 
down  the  path  toward  the  alley.  Belle,  the  black  and 
tan,  before  her  —  a  little  dancing  nervous  thing,  up  on  the 
tips  of  her  toes.  And  behind,  slouching  at  Arabella's 
heels,  General  Sherman  —  the  great  old  yellow  dog  she 
called  General  Sherman  —  naming  him,  the  way  the  nig 
gers  do  sometimes,  after  celebrated  folks  they  want  to 
honor. 

God  knows  what  wicked  mixture  of  mongrels  there  was 
in  that  dog.  There  was  hound,  I  expect;  and  some  mas 
tiff,  for  he  was  a  great  high  beast;  and  plenty  of  other 
kinds,  for  certain.  He  was  so  old  and  worn  out,  and  lay 
around  so  much  that  there  were  callouses  on  his  front 
legs,  made  from  lying  on  them.  And  when  he  went  fol 
lowing  along  after,  like  he  did  now,  with  his  old  red  eyes 
looking  down  at  the  bottom  of  Arabella's  dress,  he  lurched 
and  sagged  and  looked  like  he  might  just  stop  anywhere 
and  fall  to  pieces  in  the  path. 

My  Uncle  stood  a  minute,  looking  after  them. 

"  You  can't  trust  a  nigger,"  he  said.  "  You  can't 
trust  any  of  them.  She  ain't  half  so  human  as  that  dog." 

Then  we  went  on,  and  through  the  side  door  into  the 
house. 

Vance  was  standing  there.  I  saw  her  before  we  went 
in  —  standing  looking  out  from  the  window,  playing  with 
the  curtain  cord,  thinking.  She  looked  mighty  frail  and 
delicate,  watching  out  that  way  into  the  dusk,  from  that 
great  arched  window,  like  I  saw  her  so  often  evenings. 
For  they  wouldn't  let  her  out  much  after  supper.  They 
said  the  night  air  wasn't  good  for  her.  Folks  were  dif 
ferent  then;  they  had  just  the  opposite  notions  from  what 
they  do  now  about  the  night  air. 

My  Uncle  walked  in  the  sitting  room,  and  I  after  him. 


CLOSED  WINDOWS  35 

And  I  heard  him,  just  as  soon  as  he  got  there,  call  to 
Vance  and  give  her  that  curious  unforeseen  order. 

"  Shut  that  window,"  he  said  right  loud  to  Vance. 

"  What !  "  said  Vance,  surprised. 

"  Now !  "  said  ray  Uncle  Athiel.  And  she  shut  it  like  he 
told  her  to.  He  treated  us  both  like  children,  for  that 
matter,  and  we  both  just  had  to  take  it. 

"  Now  lemme  tell  you  something,"  my  Uncle  said  to 
Vance,  "  and  you,  too,"  he  said  to  me.  "  From  now  on 
every  window  on  this  floor  goes  shut  at  sundown." 

"Here,  where  we  sit,  too?"  asked  Vance.  For  the 
others  were  all  locked  anyhow. 

"  What  I  said  was  every  window,"  he  told  her. 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,"  he  said  after  me.  "  Don't  you  know  why 
yet?" 

"  No,"  I  said.     "  I  don't." 

"Ill  teU  you  then,"  he  said  to  me.  "I'll  tell  you. 
It's  because  this  town  is  full  of  thieves !  " 

And  then  for  a  second  or  two  we  ah1  stood  silent,  Vance 
and  I  swapping  glances. 

"  We'll  roast  to  death,"  I  said.  "  We'll  just  choke  up 
and  die.  We  can't  breathe  in  here." 

"  It's  time  you  got  to  learn  how  then,"  said  my  Uncle, 
and  his  voice  was  getting  ugly,  the  way  it  did  when  he  was 
crossed  in  anything.  "  For  it  won't  be  long  now  before 
you'll  have  to  know,  anyhow.  You'll  have  to  if  you  want 
to  keep  on  livin'." 

I  didn't  get  what  he  meant  that  night.  I  didn't  catch 
it.  I  wasn't  even  sure  I  heard  him  right,  so  I  didn't  say 
any  more. 

And  after  that  he  started  out  himself  and  went  around, 
closing  everything  that  was  open,  and  looking  over  all 
the  rest.  And  Vance  and  I  stood  staring  at  each  other. 


86  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Can't  I  help  you?  "  I  said  to  him  once,  trying  to  make 
up,  and  be  friendly.  But  he  didn't  want  me. 

"  No,  I'll  help  myself,"  he  answered  me,  and  went  along. 
He  went  through  the  whole  floor,  we  heard  him  stamping 
—  through  the  Crystal  Room,  across  the  Hall ;  the  din 
ing  room,  the  kitchen,  and  even  in  the  cellar. 

"  I  don't  like  this,"  said  Vance  to  me. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  I  told  her. 

"Did  you  notice  him  —  his  eyes?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  I'm  awfully  worried  —  lately,"  she  told  me.  "  I'm 
awfully  —  anxious."  I  looked  at  her  then,  sharp.  For 
it  seemed  to  me  then  —  though  I  wasn't  sure  —  that  she 
shivered  a  little. 

"  He  hasn't  slept  at  all,"  she  said  —  and  stopped.  For 
he  was  coming  back  again.  There  had  been  nothing  much 
for  him  to  shut  up,  excepting  that  one  room  where  we  all 
were  —  that  sitting  room  in  the  front. 

He  was  back  again  and  stood  looking  in  through  the 
doorway  at  us.  I've  often  wondered  just  what  was  in 
his  mind  then;  just  how  the  world  looked  through  his 
eyes. 

"  Don't  sit  up  too  late,"  said  Vance,  going  toward  him 
to  say  good-night.  "  You've  got  to  have  your  sleep." 

"  Lemme  tell  you  something,"  said  my  Uncle,  looking 
past  her  to  me.  "  After  this  —  from  now  on,  you  want  to 
keep  your  eye  peeled  —  more'n  ever." 

Vance  kissed  him  good-night. 

"  Keep  your  eye  peeled ! "  he  said  to  me,  hardly  notic 
ing  her  —  and  turned  to  go  upstairs. 

And  then,  as  if  he  had  an  after-thought,  he  stopped  and 
turned  again. 

"  We're  bound  out  to  the  poorhouse,"  he  said,  in  that 
old  miserable  voice  he  talked  in  when  he  felt  blue  and 


CLOSED  WINDOWS  37 

down  hearted.  "  They'll  get  us  all  there  finally.  But 
we'll  give  'em  a  good  hard  fight  doing  it." 

And  then  he  went  upstairs  alone,  and  we  waited  there 
without  talking,  and  listened  to  him  till  he  reached  his 
Purple  Room  again  and  locked  the  door.  We  just  stood 
listening  to  him  going  —  that  little  common  man,  trudging 
up  through  the  dark  corridors  of  that  great  old  mansion 
that  Mr.  Bozro,  the  banker,  built  to  be  a  monument  of 
his  elegance  and  power ;  that  little  old  yellow  man  hunted 
by  fear  and  poverty,  that  common  terror  that  old  folks 
have,  which  seems  to  follow  them,  no  matter  how  much 
they  have  —  the  fear  that  some  one  will  get  their  money 
away  from  them. 

"  Vance,"  I  said,  when  he  was  gone.  "  This  ain't  going 
to  do."  For  he  certainly  did  not  look  right. 

"  He'll  feel  better  to-morrow,  maybe,  if  he  gets  some 
sleep,"  she  said.  "  He  hasn't  slept  any  lately  hardly," 
she  told  me. 

"  But  are  there  really  any  thieves  around  here?  "  I 
asked  her.  "  You  haven't  seen  a  one,  have  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Vance,  "  but  there's  always  somebody  acts 
like  they  might  be  watching." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  thinking  — "  yes."  For  that  was  true 
enough.  "  But  what's  started  him  going  now?  " 

Vance  didn't  know. 

"  You  haven't  ever  seen  that  half  nigger  he  keeps  talk 
ing  of,  have  you?  "  I  said  to  her. 

"  No,"  said  Vance.  "  No.  Not  for  certain.  But 
once  I  thought  maybe  I  had." 

"  I  haven't ;  and  you  haven't,"  I  said,  and  shook  my 
hcnd.  "  I  believe  sometimes  that  he  imagines  half  these 
things." 

But  Vance  was  very  certain  that  he  didn't. 

"  That  isn't  the  real  trouble,"  she  said.     "  You  know 


38  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

that.  It's  what's  back  of  it.  It's  his  losses.  One  after 
another  —  year  after  year,  for  twenty  years  now.  Till 
every  year  he  gets  scareder  and  scareder  for  fear  he'll 
lose  it  all." 

There  was  a  good  lot  in  that  too.  In  his  younger  days, 
they  said,  my  Uncle  Athiel  had  been  a  man  who  took  as 
many  chances  as  the  next  one  —  especially  in  money  busi 
ness.  He  was  a  fighter  and  an  ugly  one.  And  I  know 
I've  heard  my  father  saying  to  my  mother  that  he  just 
found  out  where  money  was,  and  went  there  after  it. 
And  it  didn't  make  much  difference  to  him  just  how  clean 
or  dirty  the  place  was  where  he  found  it. 

That  was  in  the  old  days.  But  now  for  twenty  years, 
one  thing  after  another  had  gone  against  him;  and  they 
said  he'd  lost  his  nerve.  I  expect  he  had.  For  it'd  been 
enough  to  break  any  man's  faith  in  his  luck  —  what  he 
had  been  through. 

Lord,  but  it  was  hot  in  that  old  sitting  room,  with  those 
windows  closed! 

"  We  can't  stand  this,"  I  said  to  Vance. 

"  Let's  go  into  the  Crystal  Room,"  said  Vance. 
"  Maybe  there'd  be  more  air  there." 

So  we  went  across,  under  the  dim  gas  light  in  the  hall, 
to  the  great  saloon  parlor. 

Almost  all  the  rooms  in  Mr.  Bozro's  house  —  on  the 
first  and  second  floors  anyhow  —  had  special  names  of 
their* own  —  mostly  for  their  colors.  They  were  mostly 
all  copied,  like  the  whole  house  was,  as  I  told  you,  from 
some  special  room  he  had  seen  in  his  traveling  abroad  — 
especially  in  France. 

The  Crystal  Room  of  ours  was  the  biggest  and  finest 
saloon  parlor  that  I  ever  saw.  It  was  forty  or  fifty  feet 
long,  I  believe,  and  from  its  high  ceiling  there  hung  down 
these  two  great  crystal  chandeliers,  all  glass  chains  and 


CLOSED  WINDOWS  39 

prisms,  that  sparkled  and  tinkled  and  shone  when  they 
were  lighted  up,  like  a  baby  rainbow.  Besides  this,  at 
either  end,  were  two  great  black-and-gilt  framed  mirrors. 
And  so  they  called  it  the  Crystal  Room  —  for  the  whole 
place  seemed  full  of  glass. 

I  lighted  up  one  faint  gas  jet  in  the  nearest  chandelier, 
and  it  shone  out  in  the  dim  circle  of  green  and  red  in  the 
great  bank  of  glass  above  it.  But  the  rest  of  the  great 
room  was  dim. 

"  There,  this  is  better,"  said  Vance,  "  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  had  to  admit  it  was. 

"  It  won't  be  so  bad  shut  up  here  evenings,  when  we're 
used  to  it  —  not  in  this  great  house,"  she  said.  "  And 
there's  another  thing,"  she  said,  "  if  you  stop  to  think 
of  it.  We  won't  be  bothered  with  mosquitoes." 

She  always  made  the  best  of  everything  that  happened. 
That  was  one  thing  I  always  noticed  about  her  —  even 
that  year  when  she  had  her  sickness  —  that  Yellow  Fever 
year  when  she  was  so  delicate. 

I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  her.  I  was  thinking 
about  my  Uncle  and  his  fears  and  queer  actions.  I  might 
have  spoken  to  her  that  night  about  what  he  thought  about 
the  Fever  coming.  But  I  didn't  think  I  would ;  I  didn't 
think  I'd  worry  her  till  I  had  to. 

We  sat  there  talking  for  a  little  while  —  in  that  great 
half-lighted  room  with  its  great  furniture,  and  its  big 
black  piano,  and  its  great  mirrors  —  everything  in  the 
grand  manner.  And  the  old  yellowish-brownish  figures 
in  the  two  high  oil  paintings  —  the  paintings  of  Pocahon- 
tas'  wedding  and  De  Soto's  Discovering  the  Mississippi 
—  looked  down  on  us  from  the  wall.  They  were  copies 
from  those  two  celebrated  paintings  made  especially  for 
Mr.  Bozro,  by  one  of  the  finest  oil  painting  artists  in  the 
South. 


40  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

She  looked  slenderer  than  ever  —  Vance  —  in  that  old 
room  —  and  frailer.  She  wasn't  any  invalid,  but  she  was 
a  fine,  delicate  thing  —  delicate  as  a  cape  jessamine  — 
and  full  of  ideas  and  excitements  and  impulses,  that  were 
too  much  for  her.  I  watched  her  slight,  thin  hand  on 
the  arms  of  the  chair,  lying  listless.  And  all  at  once  it 
clenched  itself  and  unclenched.  She  moved  a  little  and 
sighed. 

"What  is  it,  Vance?  "  I  asked. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  and  stopped,  her  big  eyes  star 
ing  out  before  her.  And  suddenly  I  looked  and  I  saw  her 
shudder.  This  time  I  was  sure.  I  saw  it  quite  distinctly. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked  her  a  second  time.  And  I  kept 
on  asking  till  she  told  me. 

"  A  dream,"  she  said,  at  last  —  not  wanting  to. 

"A  what?"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  I  had  the  most  monstrous  dream,"  she  said,  and 
shuddered  a  second  time. 

"  What  about?  "  I  asked. 

And  finally  I  got  her  to  tell  me: 

"  About  my  father." 

I  burst  out  laughing  when  I  heard  her  —  louder  than 
I  need  to  have,  I  expect. 

"  What  next  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  next  ?  You  certainly 
are  sensible,  Vance !  " 

She  was  always  full  of  strange  notions ;  and  I  was 
always  having  to  laugh  her  out  of  them.  They  were 
strange  and  crazy  and  different  from  other  people's  — 
and  they  didn't  do  her  any  good. 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked  finally.  "What  was  the 
dream  about?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  You'll  never 
find  out  from  me,"  and  started  turning  it  off  with  a 
laugh. 


CLOSED  WINDOWS  41 

She  wouldn't,  either.  She  never  would,  when  she  didn't 
want  to.  That  was  what  aggravated  me  so  continually. 
She  looked  so  frail,  you'd  never  believe  how  obstinate  she 
could  be.  When  she  didn't  want  to  tell  you  anything  or 
do  anything,  she  wouldn't ;  she'd  laugh  it  off  or  escape  you 
someway. 

But  the  real  trouble  with  her  was  always  that  she  took 
life  so  hard.  Now  this  thing  had  bitten  into  her,  I  could 
see  that,  underneath  it  all,  right  away.  Her  voice  showed 
it  and  her  deep  eyes  looking  out  from  her  pale  face  be 
neath  her  great  crown  of  black  hair;  and  her  thin  delicate 
hand  gripping  when  she  spoke  of  it,  on  the  chair  arm, 
till  the  nails  went  white  under  the  pressure.  And  now  I 
thought  I  understood  why  her  eyes  had  gone  following 
her  father  around  that  night  so  steadily.  It  was  this 
foolish  idea  about  a  dream.  And  it  made  me  mad,  like  a 
lot  of  her  ideas. 

"  You  go  to  bed,"  I  said,  "  and  sleep  —  that's  what  you 
need.  This  weather's  been  too  much  for  you." 

"  I  expect  so,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  it,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  maybe  I'll  forget  it,"  she  said  then,  going.  And 
I  stood  watching  her  as  she  went. 

They  say  delicate  women  are  that  way  sometimes  —  so 
sensitive  and  full  of  imagination,  and  quick  to  catch  things 
about  the  other  folks  around  them,  that  they  seem  some 
times  to  be  taking  information  through  the  empty  air, 
like  they  had  a  sixth  sense  almost,  they  say.  I  never  took 
much  stock  in  that  myself. 

But  certainly  Vance  was  delicate  enough,  and  she  had 
imagination  plenty.  Far  too  much  for  her,  I  believe. 
She  had  been  alone  a  lot  —  even  before  her  mother  died  — 
and  still  more  afterward;  and  she  had  too,  like  the  rest 
of  our  women  folks  here,  the  bringing  up  by  the  niggers, 


42  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

when  they  were  children.  And  that  makes  a  difference, 
I  believe. 

I  remember  now  how  she  looked  to  me,  as  I  stood  there 
watching  her  go  out  —  how  frail  and  delicate  and  slim ; — 
thin  wrists  and  slender  ankles ;  and  a  body  I  could  more 
than  span  around  with  my  two  great  hands.  She  looked 
more  delicate  to  me,  maybe  than  she  really  was  —  in  com 
parison  to  myself.  But  there  was  hardly  body  enough 
to  her,  I  used  to  think,  to  rightly  clothe  her  soul. 

I  smiled  to  her  when  she  went  out,  and  she  to  me.  And 
I  heard  her  go  along  into  her  room  upstairs  —  the  Ivory 
Room,  and  close  the  door.  And  then  I  started  out  to 
follow  her  upstairs.  And  almost  by  the  time  I  put  out 
the  gas  and  left  the  empty  Crystal  Room,  her  notion,  her 
talk  about  that  dream  of  hers  had  gone  clean  out  of  my 
mind.  For  I  was  certain  it  would  be  all  gone  from  hers 
that  next  morning. 

I  put  the  light  out  in  the  glass  chandelier  in  the  Crystal 
Room ;  and  my  dim  shadow  in  the  great  pale  pier  glasses 
passed  out  with  me  into  the  hall.  Then  I  turned  out  the 
flicker  of  light  in  the  bronze  gas  fixture  in  the  lower  hall 
way,  and  went  on  up  the  long  black  walnut  stairway  to 
the  second  floor. 

My  Uncle,  as  I  told  you,  had  the  Purple  Room,  the 
great  bedroom  of  Mr.  Bozro ;  Vance  had  the  Ivory  Room 
in  front,  where  Mrs.  Bozro  had  slept;  and  I  was  in  the 
Red  Room  toward  the  rear;  and  in  the  "L"  above  the 
dining  room,  was  the  Turkish  Room,  unoccupied.  Then 
upstairs,  besides,  on  the  third  floor,  were  all  those  other 
bedrooms  —  six  more  of  them  —  all  closed  and  vacant. 

I  went  into  the  Red  Room  and  closed  the  door  —  lighted 
up  the  gas.  And  I  sat  down  like  I  always  did  at  night, 
to  read  my  law  books.  That  next  year,  thank  God,  I 
was  to  take  my  examinations  to  the  bar.  I  was  going  to 


CLOSED  WINDOWS  43 

be  my  own  man.  No  more  like  that  last  six  months  for 
me.  I  saw  myself  already  sitting  there,  with  my  framed 
certificate  from  the  State  of  Tennessee  on  the  wall ;  and 
the  steel  engraving  of  Henry  Clay,  with  that  old  parch 
ment  smile  of  his  looking  down  on  me  from  the  wall;  and 
a  round  top  black  walnut  desk,  and  a  cane-backed  swivel 
chair;  and  a  library  of  sheepskin  law  books  closed  in  a 
book-case  with  glass  doors.  And  after  that  some  clients, 
and  a  dollar  or  two  in  my  pocket  I  could  call  my  own. 
And  let  me  tell  you  I  thought  that  time  would  never  come. 

I  was  twenty-one;  and  time  goes  slower  then  when  you 
have  to  wait  around  to  get  what  you're  after.  My  folks 
had  both  died,  and  left  me  —  with  that  little  old  red  clay 
farm  up  in  the  hills.  And  I  had  made  my  mind  up  right 
away  to  get  out  of  there  —  out  of  the  mud  and  mire  of 
that  God-forsaken  country ;  and  go  down  to  Memphis  and 
be  a  lawyer.  I  had  heard  the  lawyers  hollering  and 
speechifying  once  or  twice  on  court  days  in  the  county 
seat.  And  it  fired  my  blood,  I  expect. 

And  so,  as  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  came  down  to  Memphis, 
and  my  Uncle  Athiel  was  glad  enough,  as  I  said,  to  take 
me,  when  I  told  him  what  I  could  do  around  the  place.  I 
was  a  big  husky  boy,  and  I  could  see  in  his  looks,  as  he 
eyed  me,  that  he  knew  I  would  not  be  a  bad  thing  for  him 
to  have  around  that  great  place  of  his. 

That  was  all  right;  I  was  willing  to  do  it,  and  I  did. 
But  there  was  no  great  love  lost  on  either  side,  between 
him  and  me,  I  expect.  There  wasn't  on  mine  anyway. 
For  I  knew  before  I  came  there,  that,  though  I  always 
called  him  Uncle  Athiel,  and  he'd  been  brought  up  by  my 
grandparents  like  their  own  children  were,  he  really  was 
no  blood  kin  of  mine  at  all.  He  was  just  a  young  boy 
from  a  poor  family  that  had  lived  next  to  ours  once,  whom 
my  mother's  folks  had  taken  in  and  cared  for  and  adopted, 


44  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

when  his  people  died.  And  it  was  a  funny  thing  —  the 
way  things  sometimes  happen  in  this  world  —  that  this 
one  poor  boy  we'd  taken  in,  was  the  only  one  of  us  all 
that  had  property  and  money  now.  And  here  was  I,  at 
twenty-one,  living  under  his  roof,  without  a  cent  in  the 
world,  except  two  hundred  dollars  that  I  had  gotten  finally 
out  of  the  old  farm  above  the  mortgage  —  and  that 
pledged  to  this  gamble  of  mine  at  getting  started  in  the 
law. 

So  I  sat  there  for  an  hour  or  two  one  night,  trying  to 
read  my  law  book  —  without  any  luck  at  it.  I  sat  there, 
slapping  mosquitoes,  for  they  came  in  the  open  windows 
to  the  light,  eating  me  alive ;  and  I  tried  to  read  —  and 
my  eyes  slipped  off  the  pages  of  the  law  book  just  as  soon 
as  they  went  on.  I  was  thinking  that  night  of  something 
else. 

I  got  thinking  of  the  Fever,  and  whether  it  would  really 
come ;  and  of  my  Uncle  and  his  fears ;  of  his  thieves  and  his 
fires,  and  whatever  he  had  hidden  in  that  old  house  of  his, 
that  made  all  that  talk;  that  made  him  have  those  ideas 
about  fire  and  thieves  which  were  always  uppermost  in  his 
mind. 

Then  after  that  I  got  thinking  of  Vance  —  how  delicate 
she  was,  how  delicate  and  high  strung;  and  the  strange 
ways  and  notions  she  had  —  different  from  other  folks, 
men  and  women  too.  She  was  as  distinct  from  the  other 
women  I  had  known  —  the  common,  wiry  farm  women  I 
had  been  accustomed  to  in  the  country  —  as  if  they  had 
been  bred  on  different  stars. 

I  sat  there  worrying  about  her  that  night ;  about  how 
careful  she  had  to  be  since  her  sickness  that  last  spring; 
and  how  that  hot  summer  had  worn  upon  her;  and  now 
about  this  Fever  thing,  that  seemed  to  be  right  down 
upon  us. 


CLOSED  WINDOWS  45 

"  She'd  have  to  get  out  anyhow,  if  that  comes  along,"  I 
said  to  myself.  And  tried  to  think  of  it  that  way;  and 
did  get  the  feeling  that  it  would  go  right  finally.  And 
then  I  felt  a  little  easier. 

By  and  by,  I  thought  it  was  a  little  cooler,  so  I  put 
out  the  light  and  undressed  myself  in  the  dark,  to  save 
shutting  down  the  shades,  and  keeping  out  the  air.  And 
I  crawled  in  under  the  old  mosquito  bars  on  the  bed, 
and,  inside  there,  naturally,  it  was  hotter  than  ever.  I 
turned  and  sweat,  and  rolled  and  twisted  the  sheets  up 
into  ropes.  I  lay  there  restless,  hot,  worrying,  without 
sleep. 

The  town  seemed  restless  to  me,  too,  I  remember. 
There  seemed  more  noises  on  the  street.  My  Uncle  moved 
around  the  Purple  Room.  And  Arabella's  dogs  —  the 
big  one  and  the  little  one  —  went  around  the  house  pa 
trolling.  I  saw  them  once  or  twice;  and  once  or  twice 
they  got  barking. 

There  was  a  song  on  the  street,  some  drunken  man  was 
going  home  singing.  And  every  half  hour,  I  think  it  was, 
I  heard,  from  the  main  street  down  under  the  hill  the 
tinkle-tinkle  of  the  bell  of  the  little  old  bobtailed  mule  car 
that  went  by  those  days  —  passing  by  all  night  long,  at 
intervals  as  regular  as  the  striking  of  the  clock. 

And  then,  after  a  while,  those  old  alley  dogs  got  holler 
ing  —  those  nigger  dogs  out  in  the  alleys.  There  never 
was  such  a  place  for  dogs,  I  believe,  as  Memphis.  I  hadn't 
grown  used  to  them  yet. 

Every  time  one  started  up,  it  set  the  whole  pack  yel 
ling.  The  alleys  were  alive  with  them  —  those  nigger 
dogs,  those  old  tramp  dogs,  that  came  and  went  and  loved 
and  multiplied  till  the  back  alleys  swarmed  with  them. 
Mongrels,  crawling  mongrels,  afraid  of  their  own  shadow, 
the  hands  of  every  man  against  them.  And  at  night 


46  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

time,  when  once  the  cry  was  started,  they  all  awoke  and 
yelled  together  with  idiot  fear. 

I  remember  lying  there  that  night,  half  sleeping,  and 
hearing  that  old  miserable  wail  of  crying  dogs  start  near, 
and  go  shuddering  out  through  the  alleys  of  the  sleeping 
town  —  waking,  dying,  fading  out  at  last  in  the  far  dis 
tance,  where  the  alleys  ended  in  the  empty  pastures  at 
the  borders  of  the  town. 

The  city  seemed  restless  somehow  —  uneasy  in  its  sleep. 
But  maybe  it  wasn't  so.  Maybe  I  just  thought  so  after 
ward  when  I  remembered. 

For  it  was  that  next  day  that  the  Fever  came. 


BOOK  II 
THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   INVISIBLE    ENEMY 

THAT  next  day  we  knew  the  Fever  was  in  town. 
And  not  a  one  of  us  who  saw  it  come,  I  believe, 
is  ever  going  to  forget  it.  I  know  I  never  shall 
—  not  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred. 

I  sit  here  now  and  talk  of  it,  and  right  away  I'm  back 
again  in  that  hot  August  afternoon  on  old  Main  Street; 
and  I  see  the  smudge  of  that  first  Fever  fire  on  the  street; 
and  smell  the  taint  of  that  old  carbolic  acid  in  the  air.  I 
never  smell  that,  never,  to  this  day,  but  I  got  a  little  sick 
and  numb,  and  I  say  to  myself: 

"  Here  it  is !  It's  come !  "  Thinking  of  course  of  that 
old  Yellow  Fever  in  the  air. 

What  struck  me  first,  I  remember  that  first  day  I  saw 
it,  was  the  strangeness  of  it  all.  I'd  never  been  where 
they  had  had  the  Fever  before  in  my  life.  I  just  stood 
and  watched  and  listened. 

And  after  I'd  looked  down  the  road,  at  the  place  where 
the  woman  died,  and  the  yellow  spots  of  acid  on  the  road 
way,  and  the  street  roped  off,  the  next  thing  I  noticed 
was  the  queer  way  folks  behaved.  Everybody  acted  queer, 
it  seemed  to  me  —  hurried,  and  got  out  of  one  another's 
way.  And  some  were  drunk,  for  they  said  at  first  that 
drinking  gin  would  protect  you.  But  the  most  of  them, 
I  could  see,  weren't  drunk  at  all.  They  were  something 
else. 

There  was  one  little  man,  I  remember,  a  dapper  dandy 
little  man  in  a  linen  suit  walking  straight  down  the  middle 

49 


50  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

of  Main  Street,  directly  in  the  white  shine  of  the  sun. 
And  everybody  that  passed  him,  going  across  the  street, 
he  wheeled  away  from,  and  went  way  around.  And  if 
they  didn't  go  far  off  enough  to  suit  him  he  waved  and 
called  to  them  to  go  further. 

And  there  was  another  man,  I  saw,  who  was  carrying 
a  sponge  in  his  hand,  and  every  now  and  then  he  lifted  it 
up  to  his  nose  and  smelled  it.  It  had  carbolic  acid  on 
it.  We  saw  that  often  enough  afterward.  But  that  was 
the  first  time  I  had  seen  it;  and  I  stood  and  stared  at 
him. 

I  stood  staring  at  him;  and  all  at  once  it  came  to  me. 
"  Lord,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  these  folks  are  scared  to 
death." 

And  right  after  that  I  was  scared  myself  —  some ;  and 
began  to  have  that  feeling  that  got  growing  on  me  after 
ward. 

The  trouble  was  nobody  knew  about  the  thing  —  where 
it  was,  or  who  had  it,  or  how  you  got  it.  Every  step  you 
took  you  might  be  blundering  into  it.  You  had  that  old 
scary  feeling,  of  a  man  waiting  to  be  struck  from  behind 
in  the  dark.  It  seemed  like  something  dangerous  was 
standing  there  behind  your  shoulder  —  something  you 
couldn't  see.  All  that  you  knew  was  that  somewhere, 
somehow,  under  that  clear,  cloudless  pale  green  summer 
sky,  death  lay  hidden,  waiting  —  all  set  and  ready  to 
pounce  down  upon  the  next  one,  like  a  cat  upon  a  sparrow. 
And  the  next  one  might  be  you. 

So  I  didn't  stay  there  very  long,  nor  talk  to  very  many. 
I  did  hear  that  they  said  the  Fever  seemed  to  be  checked, 
or  headed  East  —  like  it  was  in  '73,  and  in  that  case  they 
might  hold  it  so  it  wouldn't  get  down  to  us  at  all.  That 
was  something,  anyhow.  And  after  that  I  started  home 
right  away. 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  51 

I  got  on  a  little  old  bobtailed  mule  car  and  rode  down 
Main  Street,  sitting  up  straight  on  the  hard,  carpeted 
seat,  for  fear  of  whoever  might  have  been  sitting  there 
before  me.  And  there,  on  the  corner,  as  I  got  out,  stood 
John  McCallan,  the  policeman,  in  the  thin  shade  of  an 
old  mulberry  tree,  holding  his  old  felt  hat  in  one  hand  and 
mopping  off  his  red-hot  face  with  the  other. 

"  Well,  sor,  it's  come,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  John ;  it  has,  sure  enough,"  I  answered. 

"  God  hilp  us,"  said  John,  and  cleared  his  throat. 
"  They  say  they're  burnin'  the  clothes  and  beddin'  of  the 
poor  woman  on  the  street,"  he  said,  "  and  they  got  it  all 
roped  off  to  the  alley.  And  chimicals  and  stuff  all  over 
the  ground." 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  I  saw  it  down  the  street." 

"By  this  time,  she'll  be  buried,"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

"  God  hilp  us,"  said  John  McCallan.  "  They  have  to 
bury  'em  quick,  don't  they?  They  have  to  get  'em  away 
under  ground  right  off. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  looking  off.  "  There's  many  a  poor 
feller  alive  and  workin'  to-day  that'll  be  lyin'  there  and 
the  flies'll  be  eatin'  this  day  week." 

"  The  flies  !  "  I  said. 

"  God,  wait'll  you  see  it,"  he  said,  looking  straight 
ahead.  "  I  saw  it,  when  it  was  here  in  '73." 

"  The  flies,"  I  said  again.  I  never  heard  of  that  be 
fore. 

"  We  used  to  find  them  so  —  mornings.  Them  big 
green  flies  on  the  window." 

He  stood  fanning  himself  with  his  big  floppy  hat. 

"  And  the  naygurs,"  he  went  along,  "  don't  have  it ! 
Plenty  o'  good  white  men'll  die.  And  those  naygurs  won't 
any  of  them  have  it."  He  was  always  cursing  at  the 


52  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

niggers.  "  They'll  stay  here  stealin'  from  us  and  makin' 
trouble." 

And  by  this  time  the  mule  car  had  been  down  and 
turned  around  at  the  end  of  the  run,  and  was  tinkling 
back  again. 

"  Well,  good  evenin',"  said  John  McCallan,  treading 
the  step  behind  the  door  in  the  rear;  and  the  little  car 
teetered  under  his  great  body  as  he  climbed  in.  And  I 
turned  around  and  started  going  up  the  hill  to  our  street. 

That  certainly  was  a  hard  and  unnatural  summer  for 
heat,  that  Yellow  Fever  year,  so  hot  and  dry,  they  said, 
the  big  old  trees  died  in  the  woods  —  their  roots  just 
dried  up  in  the  ground. 

Lord,  how  hot  it  was  going  up  that  old  hill !  I  can  feel 
it  now.  Dry  as  a  kiln.  Not  a  cloud  in  the  sky ;  nothing 
but  the  white  sun  —  no  bigger,  it  looked  like,  than  a  ten- 
cent  piece.  Just  a  glimmering  point  of  white  hot  light 
baking  the  earth  up  in  one  solid  brick.  And  the  shadows 
everywhere  sharp  as  if  cut  off  with  a  knife.  "  Yellow 
Fever  Weather,"  they  got  to  calling  it  afterwards;  we 
had  it  all  that  summer. 

The  great  house  of  my  Uncle  stood  there  ahead  of  me 
as  I  dragged  along,  set  up  from  the  street;  with  its  two 
little  magnolia  trees,  on  either  side  of  it,  stiff  as  pompons, 
their  leaves  glistening  and  shining  like  burnished  metal. 
A  locust  droned  and  rattled  in  one  of  them  —  fast  and 
furious,  like  something  gone  mad  from  heat.  My  head 
was  hot  from  the  white  sun  overhead.  My  feet  were  hot 
from  the  hot  bricks  underneath.  My  tongue  was  hot  in 
my  mouth,  and  my  soul  was  hot  in  my  body ;  and  when  I 
opened  the  side  door,  and  passed  into  the  great  dark 
house,  it  seemed  cool  as  a  cave. 

I  opened  the  door  and  slipped  in  softly.  Vance  might 
be  taking  her  sleep  upstairs,  and  now  certainly  she  could 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  53 

not  get  too  much.  I  started  going  into  the  sitting  room 
to  throw  myself  into  a  chair  and  cool  off,  when  I  saw,  in 
the  study,  to  the  right,  Arabella,  the  negro  woman,  star 
ing  motionless  out  the  window. 

She  turned  her  great  eyes  toward  me  for  a  moment, 
thinking,  maybe,  it  might  be  my  Uncle ;  then  turned  them 
back  again,  and  stood  there  looking  down  the  street  — 
still  as  something  watching  on  a  path  in  the  jungle.  She 
had  been  watching  out  a  lot  that  way  lately ;  all  the  nig 
gers  had  been  watching,  it  seemed  somehow  to  me,  since 
they  said  first  the  Fever  was  started  up  from  New  Orleans. 

"Well,  Arabella,"  I  said,  "it's  come!  The  Fever's 
here!" 

"  Yassah,"  she  said,  all  unexcited. 

"  There  was  a  woman  died  of  it  this  morning." 

"  Yassah,"  she  said.     "  Yassah." 

And  though  her  voice  didn't  change  one  little  tone,  all 
at  once  her  smooth  round  face  broke  into  a  sudden  peace 
ful  smile. 

"  Yassah,"  she  said.  "  Yassah.  The  signs  all  say 
so."  And  she  turned  her  face  out  the  window  again,  and 
her  eyes  went  hunting  down  the,  street  over  the  brow  of 
the  little  hill  toward  the  city. 

"  What  is  she  looking  for  to  come  up  over  that  hill?  " 
I  said  to  myself.  "  What  is  that  old  smile  about?  " 

I  had  heard  they  said  there  was  something  going  on  in 
the  heads  of  those  sanctified  niggers  that  summer  —  of 
that  special  lot  that  she  belonged  to.  We  heard  them 
howling  Sunday  evenings,  longer  than  ever  before  —  all 
night  long,  and  week  nights  too,  more  lately  —  down  in 
that  chapel  she  belonged  to.  "  The  Hollering  Saints," 
they  used  to  call  them,  then. 

There  was  something  on  their  minds,  some  crazy  new 
idea.  But  who  knew  it?  I  didn't;  and  I  believe  there 


54  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

was  no  one  else,  no  white  folks  who  did,  exactly.  All  they 
knew  was  what  they  generally  know  about  niggers  —  that 
bowing  and  scraping ;  those  brown  masks  —  those  faces 
with  all  their  muscles  trained  since  the  sin  of  Ham  in  the 
Old  Bible;  since  they  went  out  in  slavery  and  subjection 
—  to  lie  still  and  show  nothing.  And  those  big  old  brown 
eyes,  watching,  watching.  And  sometimes,  very  rarely 
when  you  surprised  it,  that  glimpse  of  the  real  thing  be 
hind,  when  it  breaks  into  hysterics  at  those  nigger  meet 
ings  ;  or  gleams  out  in  something  like  that  consecrated 
nigger's  smile  that  Arabella  gave  me  when  I  told  her  of 
the  Fever. 

"  Miss  Vance  upstairs?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  Yassah,  she's  upstairs  a-restin',"  said  Arabella  and 
kept  on  looking. 

I  went  upstairs  myself  then  to  my  own  room,  and  started 
reading  at  my  law.  I  was  behind  that  last  day  or  two. 
But  mighty  little  reading  I  did  that  afternoon.  My 
thoughts  went  right  back  to  the  Fever ;  to  the  dead  woman, 
and  the  chemicals,  and  the  scared  folks  on  the  street. 
And  my  eyes  went  traveling  out  the  window. 

Already  folks  were  going  out  of  town.  Already  the 
sound  of  wheels  sounded  on  the  streets  —  the  sound  of  the 
stampede  of  those  next  few  days.  The  folks  just  north 
of  us,  the  Ventresses,  I  saw,  were  closing  up  their  house 
already,  and  getting  fixed  to  leave  to-morrow. 

I  know  I  sat  there  on  the  window,  and  thought  it  over. 
I  didn't  fool  myself;  I  didn't  once  expect  that  my  Uncle 
or  I  would  go.  But  it  struck  me,  with  some  satisfaction, 
I  remember,  that  now  Vance  was  certainly  going  to  be  sent 
out  into  the  hill  country,  like  they  had  been  planning  once 
before  in  that  hot  weather. 

"  There's  that  much  to  be  said  for  the  Fever,"  I  said  to 
myself,  "  it  will  get  her  out  of  here." 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  55 

For  I  had  worried  about  her  being  there  all  that  sum 
mer. 

And  while  I  sat  there  wondering  and  worrying,  and 
caught  up  like  everybody  else,  with  my  own  affairs,  I 
heard  somewhere  out  the  window,  the  "  Whistling  Doc 
tor  "  as  we  all  called  him,  coming  up  from  visiting  some 
patient  down  the  street. 

Dr.  Greathouse,  his  real  name  was.  He  was  our  doc 
tor  ;  a  highly  educated  man,  and  I  expect  the  leading  doc 
tor  in  Memphis ;  but  so  big  and  careless  and  full  of  fun 
and  courage,  that  most  everybody  knew  him,  not  by  his 
own  name,  but  for  that  odd  trick  he  had;  for  whistling, 
everywhere  he  walked,  that  one  old  tune  he  knew  —  "  The 
Arkansas  Traveler."  You  heard  him  whistling  it  all  the 
time  on  the  street  —  so  everybody  got  to  call  him  the 
"  Whistling  Doctor." 

I  looked  down  the  side  street  in  front  of  us,  and  saw 
him  from  my  window.  There  was  an  old  lady  down  be 
low  he  came  to  see  once  every  so  often.  And  he  was  com 
ing  out  of  there  now.  A  big,  tall,  fleshy,  rolling  man  — 
with  a  kind  of  rolling  walk,  and  a  great  hearty  voice. 

Old  Uncle  Mungo  sat  waiting  for  him  in  his  buggy  — 
the  old  Virginia  darky  that  had  always  been  in  his  family, 
and  always  drove  him.  I  never  seem  to  think  of  that  old 
nigger  outside  that  old  buggy  that  he  kept  so  sleek  and 
clean.  He  was  just  as  much  a  part  of  it,  the  doctor 
used  to  say,  as  the  upper  stories  of  one  of  those  old  Greek 
Centaurs.  For  the  doctor,  as  I  told  you,  was  a  highly 
educated  man  —  a  graduate  of  the  University  of  Vir 
ginia —  and  he  was  just  full  of  things  like  that. 

The  whistling  stopped  when  the  doctor  reached  the 
street,  and  climbed  in  his  buggy.  But  there  had  been  one 
cheerful  noise  on  the  street,  anyhow,  I  said  to  myself,  and 
one  cheerful  face,  in  all  this  crowd  I'd  seen  this  day,  that 


56  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

wasn't  scared.  There  were  plenty  of  poor  sick  folks  I 
knew  who  listened  all  day  long  just  to  hear  that  old 
whistle  of  his  —  broken  and  off  the  key,  half  the  time,  go 
by.  And  now,  with  that  Fever  there,  and  half  the  town 
half  scared  to  death,  it  was  better  than  a  band  of  music 
going  up  the  street.  He  saw  me  where  I  had  got  up  and 
stood  looking  at  him  out  the  window,  and  waved  his  hand 
at  me  as  he  went  by  —  big  and  rough  and  careless  and 
slouched  down  in  the  corner  of  that  bran  span  clean 
buggy;  and  the  little  old  Virginia  darkey,  brushed  and 
combed,  and  cleaned  till  he  shone,  tucked  up  in  the  other 
corner,  driving.  And  so  they  went  on  down  out  of  sight. 

Time  crawled  along  mighty  slowly  after  that;  and  by 
and  by  I  went  downstairs,  thinking  Vance  might  have  got 
down  without  my  hearing  her.  I  stopped  by  the  side  of 
her  door  and  listened,  as  I  came  by,  and  I  didn't  hear  a 
thing. 

But  when  I  got  down  there,  she  wasn't  down  there  yet. 
Only  Arabella,  staring  out  the  window  down  the  hill,  from 
the  sitting  room  this  time. 

"  What  are  you  in  here  for,  Arabella,"  I  said  to  her  — 
"  all  this  afternoon  ?  "  For  I  knew  and  she  knew  too,  she 
had  no  business  in  there  that  way.  She  knew  that  she 
was  breaking  all  my  Uncle's  orders  about  the  house  —  his 
general  rules  that  when  she  got  done  in  front  the  house, 
she  had  to  leave  at  once. 

She  turned  slowly  toward  me,  pretending  not  to  un 
derstand. 

"  I'm  just  alookin'  and  watchin',"  she  said,  and  set  her 
great  brown  eyes  on  me.  "  I'm  examinin'  and  watchin' 
what's  goin'  on  yere. 

"  Look  yondah,"  she  said,  in  an  old  secret  voice. 

I  looked  out.  She  was  pointing  to  the  Ventresses,  the 
neighbors  just  above  us.  They  were  sending  out  their 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  57 

trunks  now  to  the  depot,  to  be  on  time  that  next  morning. 

"  They  all  a-goin',"  she  said.     "  They  all  a-goin'  out." 

And  I  saw  the  folks  across  the  street  from  us  were  get 
ting  ready  too. 

"  They's  all  a-goin'.  Eve'ybody's  a-goin',"  said  Ara 
bella,  standing  motionless. 

"  You  better  go !  "  she  said  to  them,  under  her  breath ; 
"  you  better  go,"  and  nodded  to  herself. 

"  Why  —  what  for?  "  I  asked  her,  trying  her,  to  see 
what  she  would  say.  I  liked  to  hear  them  talk.  I  en 
couraged  them  all  I  could  always.  I  wanted  to  hear  what 
they  would  say. 

"  Why !  "  she  said,  looking  with  her  big  round  eyes  at 
me.  "  Why  ?  'Cause  they're  goin'  to  die.  All  them 
in  this  city's  goin'  to  die,"  she  said  in  a  deep,  old  grave 
yard  voice. 

It  seemed  silly,  but  it  gave  me  a  kind  of  start  —  the 
way  she  said  it  —  that,  and  all  I  had  been  seeing  that  day 
—  the  fear  of  the  folks  on  the  street. 

"  Damn  the  thing,"  I  said,  and  shook  my  shoulders. 

I  thought  to  say  it  to  myself,  but  I  saw  that  I  must 
have  talked  out  loud.  For  the  negress  who  had  started 
going,  looked  around  and  watched  me  with  a  steady  look. 
"What  thing?"  she  said,  like  an  old  owl.  "What  you 
mean!  What  thing?  " 

"  The  Fever,"  I  told  her. 

"  They's  more  terrible  things  acomin',"  she  said,  wait 
ing  a  minute.  "  They's  more  monstrous  things  than  that 
Fever  acomin'  down  upon  this  city  —  more  monstrouser 
and  terribler  for  all  the  folks  yere." 

And  right  away  when  she  was  saying  it,  her  great 
smooth,  oily  face  broke  out  again  in  that  wide, ,  peaceful 
smile. 

She  stood  a  minute,  while  it  died  away,  and  took  one 


58  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

more  long  look  out  the  window;  and  then  turned  around 
and  stalked  back  to  her  kitchen. 

I  stood  there  wondering  what  it  was  that  she  saw  com 
ing  up  over  that  hill  toward  the  city.  Death,  in  some 
form,  I  expected,  like  the  rest  of  us.  But  in  what  form, 
and  for  what  purpose?  For  nothing  strange  happens  in 
a  nigger's  mind,  except  for  some  old  deep  mysterious  pur 
pose  of  God  —  or  of  the  Devil.  What  was  it  she  saw 
coming?  And  why  on  earth  when  she  thought  of  it,  should 
she  smile? 

Then,  in  just  a  few  minutes  more,  I  heard  Vance's  light 
feet  upon  the  stairs,  and  saw  her  in  the  big  brown  door 
way. 

"  It's  come,5'  I  said.     "  The  Fever!  " 

She  didn't  seem  surprised,  either,  not  a  bit.  She  walked 
across  the  room  and  stood  there  at  the  window,  where 
Arabella  had  just  stood,  and  where  afterward  we  all 
stood  so  often,  looking  down  the  little  hill,  across  the  lit 
tle  valley,  toward  the  city. 

"  Dad  was  right  then,"  she  said. 

And  I  asked  her  what  she  meant. 

"  He  expected  it  last  night,"  said  Vance. 

"  How  did  you  know  that?"  I  asked  astonished.  For 
I  had  especially  kept  from  speaking  to  her  of  it.  And  I 
knew  he  hadn't  either. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  turning.  "  It  was  perfectly 
plain,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  have  been  to  me,"  I  said,  "  not  unless  he 
told  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said  a  little  absently.  "I 
think  it  was." 

I  stood  watching  her.  She  seemed  nervous  and  wrought 
up  still,  as  she  stood  there  looking  out  the  window. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  asked  her. 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  59 

"  What's  what?  "  she  said. 

"  What  is  it  you're  looking  for  so  strong  down  the 
street?  " 

"  Dad,"  she  said.     "  Have  you  seen  him?  " 

"  It's  too  early  yet,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  I  expect  it  is,"  said  Vance  —  and  started  turn 
ing  away.  But  she  turned  right  back  again  afterwards. 

"  I  don't  want  him  down  there,"  she  said.  "  I  wish 
that  he'd  come  home." 

I  told  her  there  would  be  no  danger.  He  would  not  go 
near  where  the  fever  was.  But  she  didn't  answer  me. 
And  I  thought  I  saw  again  that  little  shiver  that  she  gave 
the  night  before. 

"  They're  all  leaving ;  they're  all  going,"  she  said, 
speaking  to  cover  it  up.  "  Everybody's  going,  aren't 
they?" 

"  The  streets  are  full  of  them,"  I  said  and  waited. 
But  she  didn't  speak. 

"  They  say  the  trunks  are  piled  up  to  the  second  story 
at  the  depot,"  I  went  on. 

Then  we  were  both  silent  for  a  while. 

"  Are  we  going?  "  I  said  at  last. 

"  No,"  she  said,  as  if  only  just  half  hearing  me.  "  No, 
we  won't  go." 

"  You  will,"  I  said. 

She  stood  and  looked  at  me  a  moment.  "  No,5*  she 
said.  "  No,  I'll  not." 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  I  said,  confident  —  for  I  was  certain 
of  it.  And  then  I  changed  the  subject. 

"  You've  seen  it,"  I  said,  "  before  —  the  Fever ;  when 
it  was  bad  —  that  time  before !  " 

For  she'd  told  me  that  she  had. 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  it,  very  bad,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  never  told  me  much  about  it,"  I  went  on. 


60  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

She  had  never  talked  much  about  it  before.  I  imagined 
somehow  that  she  didn't  care  to.  But  she  talked  freely 
enough  that  evening  of  it. 

"It's  the  air,"  she  said.  ''It's  poisoned.  That's 
what  I  remember  most." 

"  Is  that  right,"  I  said.     "  Is  that  true?  " 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  Vance.  "That's  what  all  the 
great  doctors  say.  This  poison  in  the  air  —  this 
miasma!  " 

I  asked  her  then  just  what  she  remembered  of  that  time 
she  had  seen  it  so  near  before  —  not  there  in  Memphis ; 
in  a  little  town  further  west  that  they  lived  in  before  they 
came  there. 

"  It  was  the  year  after  my  mother  died,"  she  said  — 
"  the  year  we  lived  in  Texas.  Ursa,  old  black  Ursa  took 
care  of  me." 

She  talked  low  and  broken  —  and  stopped. 

"  I  remember  mostly,"  she  said  again,  "  the  black  air  — 
the  black  poison  air !  " 

"  Not  really  so !  "  I  said.     "  Not  black  t  " 

She  had  that  way  with  her  of  telling  any  story  as  if  she 
believed  it  through  and  through  —  the  most  unlikely 
things.  She  told  them  like  a  child  —  a  nervous,  serious 
child  that  makes  you  see  a  thing  almost,  because  it  be 
lieves  it  so.  Half  like  a  child;  half  like  a  great  actress, 
I  sometimes  thought,  who  knows  exactly  what  she  is  do 
ing  —  but  yet  believes  it,  too,  with  her  feelings. 

"  No,  not  really,"  she  said.  "  I  only  thought  so.  I 
thought  at  night  it  formed  in  the  houses  where  the  Fever 
was  —  for  the  Fever  always  comes  by  night,  you  know," 
she  said. 

"Always?"  I  asked. 

"  Always,"  Vance  answered.  "  So  mornings,"  she  said, 
"  I  used  to  think  that  I  could  see  that  black  air  coming 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  61 

out  through  the  tops  of  the  windows  and  the  open  doors." 

"  How  silly,"  I  said. 

"  Ursa  said  so,"  said  Vance.  "  I  was  only  seven  years 
old." 

She  told  me  then  what  she  had  really  seen  —  about  the 
folks,  the  poor  sick  folks  down  in  the  cabin  by  the  bayou, 
who  had  it  down  underneath  their  windows ;  how  the  doc 
tor  came,  how  the  coffins  came,  bright  new  pine  coffins 
standing  waiting  by  the  door  in  the  sunshine;  how  you 
heard  folks  crying  in  the  night. 

You  heard  them  when  she  told  you,  plain  as  day  — 
when  she  told  it  in  that  still  low  voice  of  hers,  hushed  a 
little  and  breathless ;  wide-eyed,  secret  and  still  —  like 
children  telling  their  old  ghost  stories  —  those  old  ghost 
stories  that  the  niggers  teach  them  —  to  one  another  in 
the  twilight. 

"  I  used  to  get  up  in  the  mornings,"  she  said,  "  early 
mornings,  to  see  that  old  black  air  that  Ursa  used  to  talk 
about,  coming  out  the  tops  of  the  doors  and  windows. 
Like  smoke,  like  old  black  smoke,  I  thought  it  was." 

"  You  crazy  thing,"  I  said. 

"  No,"  said  Vance.  "  No.  It's  worse  than  that,  the 
way  it  is.  It's  really  worse,  I  believe." 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  it's  there  just  the  same,  isn't  it?  "  said  Vance. 
"  It's  there ;  only  it's  invisible.  And  that's  worse,  I  think. 
That's  worse,  isn't  it?" 

Her  low  voice  stopped,  as  she  turned  back  again  to  the 
window.  We  were  still  again. 

"  They  died  there,  you  say,  in  that  old  cabin?  "  I  asked 
her  finally. 

"  Six  of  them !  — "  she  said,  absent-minded  again. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  he'd  come !  "  she  said.  And  when  I  looked 
at  her  I  saw  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 


62  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  What  is  it,  Vance  ?  "  I  asked  her,  standing  up  beside 
her. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  turning  quickly,  so  she 
hid  her  eyes  from  me. 

"Are  you  thinking  of  that  same  foolishness  again?"  I 
asked  her  quickly. 

I  suspected,  naturally,  right  away.  She  hadn't  got 
rid  of  that  thing  yet  —  that  dream  of  hers. 

"  What  foolishness  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  dream  —  that  old  dream  you  said  you  had  about 
your  father." 

She  nodded.     "  A  little,"  she  admitted. 

"  You  ought  to  be  taken  out  and  whipped  within  an 
inch  of  your  life,"  I  said. 

"  I  expect  I  had,"  said  Vance,  and  tried  to  laugh. 

"What  was  it?  What  was  it  that  you  dreamed?"  I 
asked  her. 

But  she  said,  like  she  had  before,  "  I  won't  tell  you." 

"  Look  here,"  I  said  —  for  I  thought  then  I  could  un 
derstand;  with  all  that  Fever  around  and  everything. 
"  What  was  it?  Did  you  dream  he  died?  " 

She  shuddered  then  again  —  like  she  had  the  night  be 
fore.  She  didn't  answer.  But  I  knew  then  that  that 
was  what  she'd  dreamed. 

"  You  little  fool,"  I  said.  "  Haven't  you  got  any  sense 
at  all?  Ain't  you  ever  going  to  grow  up  and  be  like 
other  folks?" 

She  turned  away  from  me,  looking  out  the  window. 

"  You  can't  help  such  things  coming  to  you,  can  you  ?  " 
she  said,  trying  to  excuse  herself. 

"  But  you  don't  have  to  believe  them,"  I  told  her. 

"  I  don't  believe  them,"  she  said.  "  I  don't !  It's  just 
the  way  it's  left  me.  The  way  it  made  me  feel." 


THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY  63 

"  You've  had  the  same  feeling  after  dreaming,  I  be 
lieve  —  if  you  tell  the  truth,"  she  said  to  me. 

She  had  me  there.  For  all  of  us  have  had  that  feeling, 
I  expect  —  after  some  dream  we  had  —  after  one  or  two 
at  any  rate.  And  I  saw  too,  in  a  way,  how  the  whole 
thing  must  have  come  to  her  —  worrying  about  her  fa 
ther  —  the  way  she  had  that  summer.  It  is  perfectly 
plain  and  simple. 

But  all  I  wanted  to  do  was  to  get  her  quit  of  it  —  of 
this  worry  and  apprehension,  whatever  it  was. 

And  so,  I  went  on  scolding  and  laughing  at  her,  and 
she  looking  out  the  window. 

"  Oh,  why  won't  he  come !  "  she  said,  impatient. 

And  then  right  away  again,  "  Oh,  there  he  is ! "  said 
Vance.  And  we  saw  him  coming  up  the  street. 

We  looked  down  the  empty  street  and  down  over  the 
hill  —  with  the  dusty  shadows  of  that  parched  old  sum 
mer  afternoon  lengthening  on  its  east  side  —  on  the  houses 
and  the  fences  and  the  yards.  And  there  came  my  Uncle 
Hagar,  in  his  high,  old  dingy  buggy;  and  his  old  brown 
hand  bag  between  his  feet,  driving  poor  old  Dolly,  loose 
reined,  as  if  there  was  never  a  fever  nor  a  danger  in  the 
world. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    NIGHT    AIR 

4  '"W  "IT  T  ELL,"  I  said  to  my  Uncle  Athiel,  as  I  took 
%  /\  I  the  reins  of  the  horse,  and  started  unhar- 
T  T  nessing.  *'  It's  come,  like  you  said  it 
would." 

"  Yep,"  said  my  Uncle. 

And  when  I  looked  around  him,  I  saw  he  was  a  different 
man  than  he  was  the  night  before  —  more  like  he  was 
naturally.  His  face  was  set;  his  eyes  were  sharp  and 
beady,  like  they  were  when  he  felt  sure  of  himself.  And 
his  old  bluish  mouth  was  shut  straight  across  his  face, 
and  served  notice,  when  you  looked  at  it,  that  you  get  no 
more  words  out  of  it  than  necessary. 

"  Many  new  cases  ?  "  I  tried  again. 

"  Ten,"  said  my  Uncle ;  and  turned  and  hitched  off  to 
ward  the  house  again,  carrying  his  old  brown  satchel. 
I  didn't  know  what  he'd  been  doing  with  that  down  town 
all  day.  Not  collecting  rents  —  not  on  Tuesdays. 
Maybe  he'd  been  having  small  change  turned  into  bills. 

He  was  just  as  silent  during  most  of  the  meal  time  — 
only  answering  questions ;  and  then  only  when  he  had  to. 

The  Fever  bad?  Bad  enough.  Did  he  go  near  it? 
No.  Where  was  it  now?  It  seemed  to  be  going  East; 
staying  up  North  and  East  like  it  did  in  '73.  But  you 
could  never  tell  one  thing  about  it. 

Crowds  in  the  street.  Yes  —  the  fools !  He  saw  a 
lot  of  them  at  the  bank  —  he  said  then,  getting  started  — 

64 


THE  NIGHT  AIR  65 

taking  out  money.  Putting  it  in  too,  some  of  them  — 
the  fools.  They'd  lose  every  dollar  they'd  put  in.  Those 
banks  were  busted  —  if  you  know  the  truth  of  it.  Those 
damn  scoundrels  would  get  every  dollar  there  was  left 
there  by  those  fools. 

Fools;  everybody  was  fools  that  night.  For  a  minute 
or  two  he  got  started  talking  and  calling  everybody  fools 
—  especially  the  folks  who  were  running  away  and  leaving 
their  places  empty. 

The  fools,  he  said;  when  they  moved  out,  the  niggers 
and  the  thieves  just  moved  in.  The  town  was  full  of  them. 
And  there  never  were  so  many  niggers  standing  around  the 
streets,  looking,  in  this  world. 

"  You  take  that  place  yonder,"  he  said,  nodding  out 
the  window,  to  that  Ventress  place,  just  north  across  our 
yard.  What  were  they  thinking  of,  the  crazy  fools,  run 
ning  off  like  that;  and  leaving  their  property  empty,  just 
inviting  fire  and  thieves?  They  might  destroy  us.  They 
might  set  us  all  afire.  They  would,  too,  if  that  house 
once  got  agoin'. 

And  when  Vance  said  the  servants  would  stay  and  take 
care  of  it : 

"  Niggers,"  my  Uncle  Hagar  told  her.  "  Niggers. 
How  long  do  you  reckon  they'll  stay  there  ?  One  day !  " 

Half  the  houses  in  the  town  would  be  full  of  niggers 
and  thieves  in  two  weeks.  They'd  go  in  and  out.  They'd 
live  in  them,  if  they  wanted  to.  For  half  the  police  and 
half  the  firemen,  he  claimed,  had  skipped  already. 

"  There  won't  be  anybody  left  in  a  week  or  two,"  he 
said,  "  to  protect  the  property  here." 

And  after  that  he  closed  up  again  and  wouldn't  talk  a 
bit  more  than  he  had  to. 

"  You  won't  have  to  go  down  town  again,"  Vance  said 
to  him. 


66  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  much.  I  got  all  my  business  set 
tled  up.  Only  one  or  two  more  things  to-morrow. 
May  be." 

Vance  sighed.  She  knew,  and  I  knew  too,  he  would  go 
and  come  just  when  he  liked.  It  was  no  good  talking  to 
him. 

"  But  after  that,"  said  Vance,  "  you  won't  have  to  go 
down  there  again." 

"After  that,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  "I'll  be  right 
here  looking  after  my  own  property." 

"  Then  you  aren't  going  away,"  I  said  quickly. 
"  You're  not  going  to  get  out  of  town." 

"  Going,  no !  "  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  resting  his  black 
eyes  on  me.  "  What  do  you  take  me  for?  " 

So  we  sat  there  again  in  the  high  black  walnut  lined 
room  without  talking.  It  was  lighter  than  the  night  be 
fore.  The  sky  was  clearer. 

"  Most  sun  down,  ain't  it  ?  "  said  my  Uncle,  suddenly, 
and  got  up. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance. 

"  It's  time  to  shut  the  windows,"  said  my  Uncle. 

"  Good  Lord  t  "  I  said  under  my  breath. 

"  Only  to-night  — "  he  said,  "  we're  going  to  shut  them 
all  —  the  upstairs,  too." 

"  Upstairs !  "  I  said. 

"  Upstairs  and  down !  " 

"  We  can't  stand  it,"  I  said,  rising  up. 

My  Uncle  stood  and  stared  at  me  —  his  eyes  sharper 
than  gimlets. 

"  It's  moonshine,  anyway,"  I  said.  "  Isn't  it  bad 
enough  with  just  the  downstairs  closed?  " 

"  Are  you  a  fool  ?  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

"No,"  I  said.     "Are  you?" 

You  know  how  quick  and  irritated  you  get  in  that 


THE  NIGHT  AIR  67 

weather.     And  with  all  the  rest  to  add  to  the  excitement 

—  the  fever  and  all  that,  and  my  quick  temper  anyway  — 
I  was  ready  for  murder,  I  expect,  that  night. 

"  Beavis,"  said  Vance  to  me. 

"  We  can't  be  shut  up  here  —  not  altogether,"  I  said, 
minding  her,  and  talking  lower  and  apologizing  with  my 
voice. 

"  It's  better,  I  expect  you'll  find,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel, 
"  than  being  shut  up  altogether  in  a  pine  box." 

"What  is  this  anyhow?"  I  said,  raising  up  my  voice 
again. 

"  You  do  it  now,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  And  talk 
about  it  when  you  come  down." 

So  Vance  took  me  upstairs  to  close  the  windows,  while 
he  saw  they  were  all  shut  up  below. 

"What  is  this  anyhow?"  I  asked  Vance  again,  going 
up. 

"  The  Fever,"  she  explained  to  me.  "  Shutting  out 
the  Fever  —  like  we  used  to  do.  Shutting  out  the  night 
air." 

Lord,  how  hot  it  was  in  that  house  —  hotter  than  the 
night  before  —  hotter  when  you  went  upstairs !  Hotter 

—  a  lot  hotter  in  the  second  story  than  in  the  first.     You 
felt  it  going  up.     You  smelled  that  old  dry  dusty  smell 
of  furniture  and  carpets  —  the  dyes  in  them,  I  expect  it 
is  —  that  you  smell  inside  the  house  those  hottest  sum 
mer  nights. 

I  went  back  to  close  my  room,  while  Vance  was  taking 
care  of  hers.  I  started  and  slammed  down  the  back 
window  of  the  two  in  my  room,  and  started  over  to  the 
second.  And  then  I  stood  there  watching.  For,  far  up 
the  street,  I  could  see  that  first  old  Fever  fire  burning  in 
the  road-way  —  before  the  Snack  house  where  the  woman 
died.  There  were  fewer  buildings  then,  on  our  side;  you 


68  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

could  see  way  up  the  street.  And,  tho'  it  wasn't  very 
dark  yet,  I  could  see  that  fire  plain  enough.  They  had 
fed  that  Fever  fire  they  set  going  in  the  day,  and  kept  it 
going  still,  after  they  had  burned  the  clothes  the  woman 
died  in,  the  things  the  woman  touched  as  she  was  dying. 
There  was  tar  in  the  fire;  and  some  other  chemicals,  I 
believe.  And  I  could  just  catch  a  faint  touch  of  red, 
and  see,  much  plainer,  over  it,  the  black  and  greasy  smoke, 
that  swung  heavily  down  the  street. 

I  stood  for  a  minute  watching  it,  with  that  old  feeling 
of  loneliness,  that  comes  over  you  anyhow,  looking  out 
into  the  twilight,  with  a  big  black  unlighted  house  at 
your  back;  and  I  jumped  a  little  when  Vance  called  for 
me,  at  my  doorway,  to  go  downstairs. 

My  Uncle  Athiel  was  there,  waiting  in  the  sitting  room, 
when  we  two  came  back. 

"  Now,  sit  down !  "  he  said  to  me.  "  Sit  down  and  hold 
your  horses !  And  I'll  tell  you  something  about  this 
Fever,  if  you  think  you  want  to  listen.  Sit  down !  "  he 
said. 

I  sat  down,  without  answering  back.  Vance  had  been 
talking  to  me  when  we  were  coming  down  from  upstairs. 

"  You  ever  seen  it?  "  he  said  to  me. 

"  No,"  I  said  — "  no,  sir." 

"  I  have,"  he  said,  eying  me.     "  All  my  life." 

I  didn't  say  anything  in  answer. 

"  And  when  you  know  about  it,"  he  said ;  "  you  know 
like  I  do,  there  ain't  any  more  danger  in  it  than  a  kitten. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  it  —  not  a  particle." 

"Why  not,  aren't  you?  "  I  said. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  sun-stroke?  "  he  said.  "  Do  you 
ever  worry  about  it?  " 

"  No,"  I  said.     "  You  don't  have  to  get  sun-stroke, 


THE  NIGHT  AIR  69 

you  don't  have  to  go  out  where  it  is.  You  don't  have  to 
go  out  and  stand  out  in  the  sunshine." 

"  Just  precisely.  And  it's  just  the  same  precisely,  with 
this  Fever,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  Only  one  comes  by 
day  and  one  comes  by  night ! 

"  Now  lemme  tell  you  somethin',"  my  Uncle  Hagar  said 
— "  and  it  will  be  worth  your  while  rememberin' :  You 
won't  get  the  sun-stroke,  never,  not  if  you  keep  in  out  of 
the  sun.  And  just  the  same,  you  won't  get  the  Yellow 
Fever  —  never  —  if  you  keep  out  of  this  night  air. 

"  I've  seen  it,  and  I've  seen  it  working  for  more  than 
thirty  years ;  and  I  ain't  no  more  afraid  of  it ;  nor  half  so 
much  —  as  a  good  hard  cold.  For  you  know  exactly 
what  to  do  with  it.  You  know  that  all  you  have  to  do 
is  one  simple  thing: 

"  Keep  down  your  windows  after  dark !  Keep  'em  down 
till  morning  comes  —  and  shut  out  that  old  poison  night 
air !  "  said  my  Uncle  Hagar.  "  That's  all.  You  do  that, 
and  you're  just  as  safe  as  you  would  be  in  Alaska.  Pro 
vided  that  one  thing.  Provided  you  just  shut  up  all  your 
windows  nights,"  he  said  and  stopped  talking. 

I  moved  and  shifted  my  chair.  And  all  at  once  Vance 
got  up  and  went  and  stood  at  the  window.  I  saw  what  it 
was  right  off.  She'd  caught  sight  of  the  Fever  fire.  It 
was  getting  darker  and  you  could  see  it  plainer  now. 

"  Simple,  ain't  it?  "  said  my  Uncle  Hagar. 

I  didn't  say  one  word  to  dispute  him.  I'd  promised 
Vance  I  wouldn't. 

"  It  sounds  so,"  I  told  him.  But  I  didn't  believe  it 
just  the  same. 

So  then  my  Uncle  Hagar  went  on  talking  and  explain 
ing  more  about  the  Yellow  Fever. 

"  I    know,"    he    said.     "  I've    watched    it    everywhere 


70  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

around  this  country.  You  can  touch  it,"  he  said,  "  and 
breathe  it ;  you  can  bury  'em,  and  handle  'em  and  be  with 
'em  all  day  long.  And  you'll  never  catch  it.  They  all 
know  that;  it's  well  known.  Any  doctor'll  tell  you. 

"  But  nights,"  he  said,  "  look  out !  This  ^Fever's  a 
night  disease.  It  comes  at  night.  It  always  strikes  'em 
first  just  after  midnight  —  always  just  between  the  hours 
of  twelve  and  one.  And  they're  lowest  then,  after  they've 
got  it.  And  when  you  ask  the  doctors  why,  they  don't 
know  why. 

"  It's  a  night  disease,  that's  all,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 
"  That's  all  they  know.  It's  a  night  thing.  The  Yellow 
Fever's  just  as  much  a  part  of  the  night  as  the  moon. 

"  It  travels,"  he  said ;  "  it  goes  traveling  on  in  this  old 
poison  night  air." 

Vance  stood  there  looking;  and  I  sat  still.  I  could 
look  down  past  her  shoulder,  down  the  street  and  see  the 
old  Fever  fire  brightening  as  the  daylight  grew  more  dim. 
The  gas  lights  were  few  and  feeble  in  those  days ;  and  the 
fire  light,  a  dull  old  red,  shone  plainer  and  plainer  in  the 
deepening  dark.  It  was  growing  pretty  dusky  now;  the 
time  the  last  shine  of  sunset  shows  white  in  the  eastern 
window  panes. 

"  You'll  do  that,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel  to  me.  "  Will 
you?" 

"  Do  what  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  over  toward  where  Vance 
was. 

"  Keep  'em  closed ;  keep  all  your  windows  closed." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  will,"  I  said.  For  I  had  told  Vance  that 
I'd  agree  to  anything. 

"  For  if  it  once  gets  in  a  house,"  he  said,  "  if  it  once 
gets  in  —  that's  different.  You're  a  goner  —  every 
body,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  A  goner,  when  it  once  gets  into 
the  house  with  you." 


THE  NIGHT  AIR  71 

He  looked  at  Vance  then,  to  see  if  she  was  going  to 
answer  him  —  to  promise  him  about  keeping  down  her 
windows  too.  For  she  only  stood  there  watching,  with 
her  face  at  the  window. 

And  then,  as  it  happened,  when  he  was  watching,  that 
old  Fever  fire  in  the  street  flared  up.  Somebody'd  thrown 
more  stuff  on,  I  expect,  to  keep  it  going.  It  flared  and 
threw  an  orange  light,  down  the  darkened  street. 

"What's  that!"  said  my  Uncle,  jumping  to  his  feet; 
and  hurrying  over  and  standing  there  back  of  Vance  at 
the  window.  And  then  saw  himself  what  it  was. 

"Fools,"  he  said. 

We  stood  there  for  a  few  minutes  —  all  of  us.  I  was 
thinking  of  the  poor  woman  who  was  dead,  and  in  the 
graveyard,  and  her  poor  little  old  clothes  and  furniture 
and  belongings  burned  and  gone,  and  traveled  out  across 
the  town  in  smoke. 

"  The  fools !  "  said  my  Uncle  suddenly  again.  "  The 
fools.  Judas  Iscariot!  They  might  set  a  fire  that  way 
and  destroy  half  the  property  in  this  town !  " 

I  looked  at  him,  as  he  stood  there  staring  —  rigid. 

Property,  property  —  always  property  I  All  the  town 
half  crazy  with  nerves  and  fright;  death  and  fear  of 
death  stamped  on  the  faces  of  all  other  folks.  And  all 
the  time  this  one  little  yellow  man,  with  his  eye  just  set 
on  that  same  old  man's  fear  —  for  property. 

He  said  good-night  then,  and  Vance  and  I  listened 
while  he  poked  upstairs  again  and  locked  himself  in  his 
Purple  Room. 

"  You  believe  that?  "  I  said  right  off  to  Vance. 

"What?"  she  asked. 

"  That  thing  about  the  Fever." 

"  Certainly  I  do !  "  said  Vance. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  I  said. 


72  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Certainly,  it's  true,"  said  Vance.  "  Any  doctor'll 
tell  you  so.  All  these  highest  educated  doctors  have 
studied  it  all  out  and  they  know.  They'll  tell  you  it's 
the  night  air  brings  the  Yellow  Fever." 

"  Even  if  it  was,"  I  said,  "  you  couldn't  shut  it  out  by 
putting  down  a  window." 

"  Yes,  you  could,"  said  Vance.  "  You  ask  any  doctor 
—  any  doctor  in  Memphis,  and  see  what  he  says." 

"  I  will,"  I  said ;  "  I'm  going  to  the  first  chance  I  get. 
And  I  won't  believe  it  till  they  say  so." 

But  she  was  sure  and  positive,  like  she  always  was  when 
she  took  sides.  "  They'll  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  and  they 
know  too.  We've  got  as  highly  educated  doctors  here  in 
Memphis  as  anywhere  in  this  country." 

"  How  can  you  shut  out  the  night  air?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  Hundreds  of  people  have,  yes,  thousands,"  said 
Vance.  "  I  know  lots  of  folks  myself." 

That  old  Fever  fire  shone  down  the  street  plainer  and 
plainer  now.  Its  light  was  quite  far  away ;  but  darkness, 
as  it  came  along,  seemed  to  bring  it  always  nearer  to  us. 
I  could  see  the  orange  light  of  it  now  —  very  faint  on 
Vance's  face.  For  we  hadn't  lit  the  gaslight  yet.  We 
were  too  busy  talking. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  I  asked  her  again,  "  that  you 
believe  all  that?" 

"  It's  just  as  safe,  I  believe,"  said  Vance,  "  as  it  is  in 
Alaska  —  if  you  do  what  he  said  to  do." 

"  That  wasn't  the  way  you  talked  this  afternoon,"  I 
told  her. 

"  When?  "  she  asked  me  in  an  arguing  voice. 

"  When  you  were  talking  of  that  old  Fever  you  saw 
before.  When  you  were  worrying  about  your  father." 

We  stood  side  by  side  at  the  window,  so  her  shoulder 
touched  my  arm;  and  when  I  spoke  again  about  her  fa- 


THE  NIGHT  AIR  73 

ther,  all  at  once  I  felt  her  tremble  like  she  had  done 
that  afternoon  —  a  little  shudder  pass  across  her  slender 
body. 

And  then,  right  away,  it  was  all  that  I  could  do  to  hold 
myself  from  gathering  her  in  my  arms.  It  was  the  danger 
of  the  thing  —  thinking  of  the  danger  from  that  Fever  — 
somehow.  It  seemed  somehow  I  must  protect  her  and 
fend  it  off  from  her  —  and  get  her  away  from  it.  And 
still  I  was  mad  and  irritated  at  her,  too,  all  at  the  same 
time. 

"  You  lied  to  me.  You  know  you  lied,"  I  cried.  "  You 
do  fear  it !  "  We  were  like  two  children  together,  when 
we  thought  a  thing,  out  it  came. 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  I  did  not.     I  did  not  lie." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  I  went  along,  looking  down  at 
her,  "  you  think  you're  going  to  stay  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  defying  me. 

"  Well,  you're  not." 

"  I  am,"  she  cried  again. 

"  Don't  fool  yourself.     You  certainly  are  not,"  I  said. 

I  could  see  the  faint  yellow  shine  of  that  Fever  fire  on 
her  smooth,  thin  cheek.  I  was  scared  and  mad  both  at 
the  same  time. 

"  I  am,"  she  said.  "  You'll  see ;  so  don't  let's  argue  — 
don't  let's  — " 

And  all  of  a  sudden  her  voice  had  left  her  —  like  it  did 
sometimes  that  summer;  left  her  entirely  and  she  was 
whispering. 

It  scared  me  always,  almost  out  of  my  wits. 

"  God !  "  I  said  in  an  ugly  voice. 

"  You're  certainly  in  fine  shape  to  stay  here,"  I  said. 

And  she — not  able  to  talk  back,  just  made  a  face 
at  me. 

"  It's  time  you  went  to  bed,"  I  said. 


74  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  now,  when  she  held  back  and  objected  and  refused, 
I  just  made  her. 

"  Up  you  go !  "  I  said. 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Vance. 

"  Come  on,  Vance,  be  decent !  "  I  said  to  her,  and  finally 
she  went  up  and  left  me  there. 

I  turned  and  stared  out  at  the  old  Fever  fire,  and  tried 
to  think. 

I  tried  to  think  the  Fever  wasn't  going  to  be  much ;  of 
how  little  it  was  started  yet.  And  how  they  might  be 
able  to  hold  it  down  there,  as  they  did  in  '73,  or  it  might 
go  East  as  it  is  headed  now.  And  all  I  saw  was  Vance 
and  the  faint,  faint  orange  glow  of  that  Fever  fire  on  her 
face ;  and  her  dark  wide  eyes  watching  it ;  and  her  frail 
ness,  and  her  voice  that  failed  so  often  that  summer  since 
it  had  come  so  fierce  and  hot.  And  what  would  happen 
if  the  Fever  should  keep  coming  on,  and  coming  on  to 
where  we  were  —  where  she  was. 

I  started  to  think  what  would  come  to  me  if  anything 
should  happen  to  Vance  —  if  she  should  stay  there  and 
get  that  Fever.  And  I  couldn't;  I  wouldn't;  I  couldn't 
look  it  in  the  face ! 

So,  all  nervous,  I  jumped  up  and  went  upstairs.  And 
I  tried  to  read  law  some,  and  I  couldn't.  And  I  lay  down 
on  the  bed,  all  dressed,  and  tried  to  think  about  my  law; 
for  it  was  so  hot  in  there  that  I  didn't  believe  that  I  could 
sleep.  But  I  couldn't  think  either. 

I  must  have  got  to  sleep  finally  though  —  for  all  at 
once  I  woke  up  with  a  big  start.  It  seemed  to  me  I  heard 
the  tinkle  of  a  bell,  of  one  of  our  door  bells.  That  it  had 
waked  me  up. 

I  sat  up  and  listened ;  but  I  didn't  hear  anything  again. 
And  I  thought  if  there  was  anybody  there  they'd  ring 
again ;  or  certainly  Vance  would  hear  it  —  she  slept  so 


THE  NIGHT  AIR  75 

lightly.     So  finally  I  thought  that  I  was  just  dreaming. 

I  just  thought  that  I  was  dreaming  and  got  up  and  un 
dressed  myself  in  that  baking  room. 

"  There's  one  thing,  though,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  I'd 
never  gone  to  sleep  like  that  with  those  windows  open,  for 
mosquitoes.  They'd  have  eaten  me  alive. 

"  Vance  was  right,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  about  that. 
And  I  don't  know  how  much  cooler  it  would  be  either, 
sleeping  under  that  mosquito  bar  —  with  the  windows  up 
—  than  it  is  now  in  this  great  high  room,  without  it." 

And  after  that  one  night  I  tried  sleeping  there  without 
the  mosquito  bar  over  the  bed.  I  went  around  and 
cleared  the  room  of  any  mosquitoes  that  might  be  in  there. 
And  there  wasn't  but  very  few.  And  it  was  not  nearly 
so  bad  with  that  room  closed  up,  as  I  had  at  first  ex 
pected. 

It  was  hot,  though,  that  night  and  I  slept  pretty  light. 

I  didn't  hear  that  bell  again  that  night.  I  heard  the 
usual  noises  —  my  Uncle  moving  late  in  his  big  bedroom ; 
a  song  or  call  or  two  in  the  streets,  and  the  faint  tinkle  of 
a  street  car. 

The  dogs  —  the  old  alley  dogs  —  were  hollering  across 
the  town  again,  of  course.  There  was  a  late  moon.  I 
always  did  hate  to  hear  them  —  those  days ;  even  now 
I  do  — "  talking  death,"  the  niggers  call  it ;  on  moonlight 
nights. 

But  more  than  anything  besides,  that  night  —  I  re 
member  it  even  better  than  that  first  ring  of  that  little 
bell  —  was  the  sound  of  wheels  upon  the  street. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    SOUND    OF    WHEELS 

ALL  night  long  that  sound  of  wheels  never  stopped 
once  on  the  road.  I  heard  them  faint  and  far 
off,  from  the  hollow  paving  blocks  below  on  Main 
Street;  and  now  and  then,  more  occasionally,  the  rattle 
and  grating  of  those  that  went  along  up  our  own  street; 
coming  slowly  up  at  first,  then  a  little  faster,  then  over 
the  hill,  the  horses  trotting,  down  the  little  valley  towards 
the  city.  They  were  moving  north,  most  of  them  —  to 
the  depot  of  the  railroads  to  the  north ;  and  from  the 
time  of  daybreak  when  I  awoke  and  stayed  awake,  and 
lay  there  listening,  that  sound  of  hurrying  and  restless 
ness  and  fear  grew  and  grew  to  the  panic  and  stampede 
of  that  afternoon  —  when  the  folks  all  jammed  together 
at  the  depots  —  all  trying  to  get  out  of  town  at  once. 

I  saw  at  breakfast  time  that  my  Uncle  was  no  better  for 
any  sleep  that  he  had  that  night.  He  sat  silent  through 
the  meal;  his  hand  was  unsteady  as  he  drank  his  coffee, 
and  his  right  eyelid  twitched  like  it  did  sometimes  after 
he'd  passed  a  sleepless  night.  And  the  brown  welts  which 
bad  nights  raise  under  the  eyes  of  old  folks,  showed 
plainly  under  his. 

We  two  sat  there  alone  at  breakfast,  for  Vance  thought 
she  would  rest  that  morning.  And  Arabella  came  in  and 
went  out  waiting  on  us. 

And  about  the  only  time  my  Uncle  spoke  at  all,  was 

when  he  looked  up  and  said  to  Arabella : 

76 


THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS  77 

"  Who  was  it  out  there  last  night  bothering  the  dogs  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,  sah ;  I  dunno,"  said  Arabella,  all  unin 
terested. 

I  looked  up  at  them,  reminded  for  the  minute  of  what 
I  thought  I'd  heard  that  night  before  —  of  somebody  at 
the  door  bell. 

"  Somebody  was  outside  there,"  my  Uncle  Athiel  said, 
"  and  has  been  there  for  two  or  three  nights  now." 

"  Yassah,  I  expect  they  was.  They  is  quite  often  — 
some  nigger  watchin'  and  prowlin'  in  that  alley,  lookin' 
over  yere,"  said  Arabella. 

"  You  ain't  seen  him,  have  you  ?  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

"  No  sah,  I  ain't  seen  him,"  said  Arabella.  "  I  ain't 
seen  nobody."  And  her  face  kept  just  smooth  and  still, 
like  it  always  was. 

My  Uncle  looked  up  at  her  to  see  if  she  was  lying. 

"  No,  sah,"  said  Arabella,  in  a  kind  of  meaning  way. 
"  I  ain't  a  watchin'  or  waitin'  for  sech  things  no  longer. 
I  ain't  been  watchin'  for  no  thieves  —  nor  money.  No 
sech  thing  —  not  now !  " 

And  then,  as  if  she  couldn't  help  herself,  that  calm, 
peaceful,  sanctified  smile  of  hers  opened  wide  from  side 
to  side  of  that  smooth  brown  face. 

"  They  ain't  half  so  human  as  a  good  dog,"  said  my 
Uncle,  staring  at  her,  leaving. 

"  Some  nigger  was  around.  I  heard  him  botherin'  the 
dogs,"  my  Uncle  explained  to  me  then. 

"  I  expect  so,"  I  said. 

They  are  around,  always,  nights  —  like  the  cats  —  es 
pecially  when  there's  a  moon.  And  then,  of  course,  there 
was  that  house  of  ours  that  always  was  attracting 
them. 

That's  all  we  said.  My  Uncle  didn't  mention  any  ring 
ing  of  the  bell,  and  I  didn't  either.  For  I  was  more  cer- 


78  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

tain  now  than  ever  that  it  was  just  a  dream  —  or  an  im 
pression  I  had,  waking.  Maybe  I  just  heard  the  street 
car  tinkling  in  the  distance.  You  can't  tell  what  you'll 
think  when  you're  half  asleep. 

Then  after  that  we  got  up,  and  my  Uncle  called  me  out 
in  the  yard  to  harness  up  again. 

"  I  got  to  go  down  town  again,  after  all,"  he  said. 
"  I've  got  something  I've  got  to  clean  up.  But  this  is 
the  last  day." 

We  stood  out  on  the  old  side  porch  a  minute ;  my  Uncle 
stood  there  leaning  on  his  cane  and  watched  the  people 
going  and  called  them  fools  again. 

"  Fools,"  he  said.  "  They  run  out  and  the  thieves  and 
niggers  move  right  in.  In  two  weeks'  time  there  won't 
be  nothing  here  but  nigger  thieves." 

They  were  all  getting  out,  all  around  us  —  the  folks 
across  the  street  —  those  folks  —  the  Ventresses  —  across 
our  yard  on  the  north  side.  And  up  the  street  went  that 
funny  old  procession  of  niggers'  teams,  going  hauling 
trunks  to  the  stations. 

"  All  stirred  up ;  all  stirred  up,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel, 
"  and  the  scum  all  coming  to  the  top. 

"  Come  on  along,"  he  said.  And  we  started  out  for 
the  barn  and  I  harnessed  up  for  him.  "  Lemme  tell  you 
somethin',"  he  said  to  me,  "  you're  to  stay  right  here  to 
day  —  all  day  —  you  understand !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  Stay  right  here  and  keep  your  eye  peeled !  You 
don't  know ;  you  can't  tell  who'll  be  around  here  from  now 
on !  You  don't  know  who's  watching  now." 

So  I  said  I  would.  Naturally  I  had  no  idea  of  doing 
anything  else. 

That  morning  I  stayed  right  there.  I  did  my  work  — 
what  there  was  to  do;  read  some  in  my  law  book;  and  I 


THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS  79 

looked  a  whole  lot  out  of  my  window,  and  watched  the 
moving  on  the  street. 

The  procession  kept  moving  and  moving  all  the  morn 
ing  —  every  old  thing  that  went  on  wheels  was  out ;  all 
out,  carrying  the  white  folks'  baggage  to  the  depot. 
Every  rusty  old  rake  of  a  hack  in  the  place  went  dashing 
back  and  forth,  trying  to  be  in  two  spots  at  once;  and 
all  the  niggers,  with  their  little  starving  rats  of  horses, 
perishing  with  blindness  or  hip  disease,  went  rambling  and 
rattling  with  as  many  trunks  as  they  could  stagger  to. 
Everything  with  wheels  was  out  —  wheelbarrows  and 
hand-carts;  and  I  remember  one  little  darkey,  traveling 
down  the  middle  of  the  street,  dragging  a  great  trunk 
after  him  with  a  rope  —  just  drawing  it  on  its  casters. 

By  dinner  time,  when  my  Uncle  got  back,  the  whole 
thing  was  going,  its  wildest,  and  people  were  starting  for 
the  trains  themselves.  And  there  were  some  folks  already 
—  but  not  so  much  as  later  —  coming  out  in  our  direc 
tion  from  the  town,  leading  dogs  and  carrying  bird-cages 
in  their  hands  —  and  some  of  them  bedding ;  going  out 
from  where  the  Fever  was,  to  find  some  place  out  in  the 
suburbs  where  they  could  sleep.  Like  people  running 
from  a  great  fire.  They  said  the  sidewalks  before  the 
depots  were  solid  full  of  trunks ;  and  they  said  when 
the  trains  went  out  they  locked  the  doors  of  the  cars 
when  they  were  full,  and  men  just  broke  the  windows  open 
and  climbed  in.  And  some  sat  on  the  engine,  and  some 
up  on  the  roofs  of  the  cars  —  and  went  out  North  so. 

My  Uncle  had  seen  some  of  it  and  he  was  talking  more 
than  ever  about  fools. 

"  The  whole  town's  upside  down ;  all  the  crazy  fools  — 
the  lame  and  halt  and  blind,  and  weak-minded,  are  up  and 
crawling  out  of  the  holes  and  alleys.  And  all  the  nig 
gers  in  the  town  standing  on  the  corners  looking !  " 


80  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

After  dinner,  he  went  back  again  to  town  himself ;  but 
this  time,  so  he  said,  it  surely  would  be  his  last  trip 
there. 

"  You  mind  what  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  driving  out. 
"  You  stay  right  here." 

And  I  said,  of  course,  I  would. 

I  stood  watching  him,  and  afterward  I  went  out  in 
front,  and  watched  there. 

There  certainly  were  enough  queer  folks  going  by. 
Fear,  like  my  Uncle  said,  was  driving  strange  things  out 
of  the  holes  and  alleys ;  and  everywhere,  if  you  kept  your 
eye  out,  you  saw  the  niggers  watching  —  standing,  watch 
ing. 

I  stood  there,  looking  down  the  street,  from  the  front 
of  the  yard,  under  one  of  the  little  magnolia  trees,  watch 
ing.  And  right  after  that,  I  made  my  bad  mistake,  with 
out  the  slightest  purpose  and  meaning  to  make  it. 

I  was  standing  there,  only  just  a  little  while  when  I 
heard  the  whistle  of  the  doctor,  the  old  cracked  Arkansas 
Traveler  tune,  coming  up  the  street.  And  right  away  I 
said  to  myself: 

"  There's  the  man.  There's  the  man  can  tell  me  about 
the  Fever  —  about  this  business  of  shutting  out  the  Fever 
nights.  Yes,  and  what  we're  going  to  do  about  Vance." 

For  I  was  thinking  about  her,  naturally,  all  the  morn 
ing.  Especially  when  I  saw  she  didn't  feel  like  coming 
down  to  breakfast  again. 

The  whistling  stopped,  and  I  knew  the  doctor  had  got 
into  his  buggy;  and  I  saw  him  coming  down  by  us,  going 
down  to  visit  that  old  lady  —  that  patient  of  his  down  the 
side  street. 

So  I  stepped  down  on  the  walk  and  waited  for  him. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  I  said.  "  I've  got  to  talk 
to  you." 


81 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  what  you  do,"  he  said  finally.  "  I'm 
going  down  here  a  minute.  I'll  walk  the  rest  of  the  way, 
and  you  get  in  with  Mungo,  and  he'll  drive  you  down  to 
my  house.  And  by  that  time,  I'll  be  through  here,  and 
he'll  come  back  and  get  me.  How's  that?  " 

I  told  him  that'd  be  all  right.  Just  like  me.  I  just 
didn't  think  —  not  one  thing  about  leaving  the  house  open. 
Only  one  thought  in  my  mind  always.  I  was  just  think 
ing  about  Vance  and  the  Fever.  What  I  was  going  to 
do  about  getting  her  out. 

So,  like  a  fool,  I  got  right  in,  and  drove  off  with  Uncle 
Mungo,  without  even  telling  Vance. 

"  Yessah,  yessah,"  he  said,  cramping  the  wheel  to  let 
me  in. 

"  Lots  o'  travelin'  to-day  —  lots  o'  travelin',"  said 
Uncle  Mungo,  making  conversation.  He  was  the  nicest 
old  darkey  that  ever  lived. 

The  teams  were  still  going  by  us  up  the  street. 

"  Mr.  Willy's  mighty  busy  these  days,"  said  Uncle 
Mungo.  He  called  the  doctor  that  always  —  Mr.  Willy. 
They  do  that  —  those  old  family  niggers  —  call  their  folks 
by  their  old  baby  names  until  they  die.  I  expect  the 
doctor  was  sixty  then,  if  he  was  a  day. 

"  I  expect  he  is,"  I  said  —  not  thinking  much  about 
what  he  was  talking  of. 

"  Does  you  think  we's  goin'  to  have  a  right  smart  of 
this  Fever?  "  he  asked  me,  and  I  looked  up,  kind  of  quick. 

"  I'm  afraid  so"  I  said. 

"  Yessah,"  said  Uncle  Mungo,  in  a  kind  of  dismal  voice. 
'*  I'm  afraid  so  too.  I  agree  with  you.  I'm  afraid  so 
too." 

He  was  always  agreeing  with  you  —  the  politest  nigger 
you  ever  saw.  An  old  Virginia  house  nigger  —  entirely 
different  kind  from  the  cornfield  niggers,  and  especially 


83  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

those  ones  around  us,  down  the  river  in  Mississippi  and 
Arkansas.  They  talked  a  different  kind  of  language 
even. 

"  Mr.  Willy'll  be  powerful  busy,  I  do  expect,"  he  said, 
and  sighed.  "  He'll  go  right  into  it.  He'll  go  right 
where  it's  the  worst." 

And  after  that  he  sat  quiet  in  his  corner  of  the  buggy 
and  didn't  say  much.  But  I  naturally  saw  what  he  was 
thinking  of  —  about  his  Mr.  Willy.  Then  he  let  me  out 
at  the  house.  And  I  didn't  wait  very  long,  though  it 
seemed  so.  For  right  away  he  was  back  again,  and  the 
doctor  came  bustling  into  the  big  old  rambling  parlor 
where  I  was  sitting  —  in  that  low,  old  fashioned  parlor, 
with  the  oil  portraits  of  the  Greathouses  on  the  walls  — 
and  wanted  to  know  what  he  could  do  for  me. 

I  hadn't  sat  down ;  I  was  standing  and  walking  around. 
I'd  got  thinking  about  Vance  again. 

"  Hello.  Sit  down,"  he  said,  spatting  me  between  my 
shoulders  with  his  great  hand. 

But  I  didn't ;  I  simply  stood  up.  "  I  want  to  ask  you 
straight,"  I  said,  going  right  at  him.  "  Is  it  any  good 
for  the  Fever,  to  shut  down  the  windows  ?  " 

"  What  windows  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Why  the  windows  of  the  house,  naturally,"  I  said. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Sit  down.  Stop  wear 
ing  out  my  carpet.  Sit  down,  and  let's  try  to  find  out 
what  you're  talking  about." 

So  I  sat  down  and  told  him  about  our  windows. 

"  Is  it  any  good?  "  I  said.     "  Will  it  do  any  good?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"Don't  know!"  I  said,  jumping  up.  "What  are  you 
a  doctor  for?  " 

"  It  might,"  he  said.  "  Sit  down.  Sit  still.  Let  me 
feast  my  eyes  on  you  in  peace." 


THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS  83 

"  Then  it  is  the  air,"  I  said,  and  I  told  him  how  my 
Uncle  talked  about  the  poisoned  night  air. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said.  "  That's  all  right.  There's 
something  that  carries  it  in  the  night  air." 

"  You  sure?  "  I  asked. 

"  Sure,  there's  nothing  surer." 

"  At  midnight  ?  "  I  asked.  "  It  always  comes  at  mid 
night?  " 

"  Yes.     Nine  cases  out  of  ten." 

"  Just  by  night?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  said,  looking  sharply. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  me. 

"  What  are  doctors  for?  "  I  said.  I  was  pretty  bump 
tious  then  when  I  got  excited. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  expect  them  to 
know  much,  do  you?  " 

And  I  looked  to  see  him  laugh  again  and  smile,  but  he 
didn't  —  either. 

"  Don't  they  call  you  an  authority  on  the  Yellow 
Fever?  "  I  said. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "Do  they?  You  tell  me. 
All  that  I  know  is  that  I'm  not  one." 

But  still  I  didn't  see  the  faintest  fraction  of  a  smile  on 
him. 

"  Nor  anybody  else,"  he  said. 

Then  he  got  up  on  his  feet,  and  started  out  to  walk 
himself. 

"  Lord,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  I  wish  that  I  did  know. 
I  wish  to  God  that  I  could  tell  you,  son !  " 

He  went  walking  up  and  down,  walking  up  and  down. 

I  was  astonished.  I  never  saw  him  act  so  wrought  up 
before. 

"Right     there,"     he     said.     "Right     there!"     And 


84  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

stopped  and  reached  out  with  his  hand.  "  Right  there, 
just  at  your  finger  tips,  just  always  there. 

"  And  when  you  think  you'll  reach  it,  when  you're  going 
to  close  your  hand  on  it,"  he  said;  and  grabbed  with  his 
great  hand  a  handful  of  empty  air,  "  it  slips  away.  It's 
gone!  You  haven't  got  it.  No.  It's  always  out  —  just 
out  beyond  your  reach. 

"  And  some  day,"  he  said  —  and  stopped  in  front  of 
me,  explaining :  "  some  day  there's  somebody's .  going  to 
find  it  out  —  blunder  on  it,  get  it  somehow.  That  thing, 
that  thing  there  in  the  air  that  none  of  us  can  ever  reach. 

"  Good  God,"  he  said,  letting  his  great  arm  drop  again. 
"  I'd  rather  be  that  man  " —  he  stopped  and  looked  at  me 
again,  and  I  could  see  the  wrinkles  come  gathering  back 
in  the  corners  of  his  eyes  once  more. 

"  Than  George  Washington,"  he  said  — "  or  Julius 
Caesar  —  or  maybe  Cleopatra  or  Bob  Ingersoll !  " 

And  so  he  passed  it  off  at  last,  like  he  did  everything 
else,  with  a  joke. 

"  This  Fever  —  is  it  going  to  be  bad  this  time  ?  "  I  said, 
going  on  after  a  while,  then,  "  Are  you  we  going  to  have  it 
very  bad  ?  " 

"  It  don't  look  too  good  to  me,"  he  said,  "  all  running 
and  scattering  the  way  they  are  —  running  and  stirring 
it  in  all  through  the  town  —  like  stirring  baking  powder 
in  a  cake." 

"  Well  then,"  I  said,  back  pounding  to  where  I  started 
from ;  "  what  do  you  say  about  this  thing?  What  do  you 
say  about  this  shutting  up  of  windows  nights?  Is  it  any 
good?" 

"  It  might  be,"  said  Dr.  Greathouse.  He  was  sitting 
down  again.  "  And  sleeping  up  in  the  third  story  too. 
There's  a  lot  of  the  old  timers  around  here  will  tell  you 
both  things. 


THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS  85 

"  It  might  be,"  he  said,  while  I  was  still  looking  at  him, 
keeping  my  old  quick  tongue  between  my  teeth.  "  It 
might  be,  if  you  could  keep  'em  shut  all  the  time  —  every 
night  and  all  night  long  —  like  you  could  a  glass  jar. 
This  night  air  carries  it  —  not  a  doubt  of  that.  But  can 
you  do  it?  Can  you  always  keep  them  closed?  " 

"  We  could  try,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  and  for  the  minute  we 
stopped. 

"  Much  obliged  for  telling  me,"  I  said.  "  Thank  you ! 
But  look  here,"  said  I,  "  what  I'm  waiting  to  find  out 
about  is  this,  right  here  now  about  ourselves :  Is  it  going 
to  be  safe  for  us  to  stay  that  way  or  is  it  not?  Tell  me 
that." 

"  Why  don't  you  go?  "  said  Dr.  Greathouse,  watching 
me. 

"  Ask  him,"  I  said. 

"Ask  who?" 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  my  Uncle  Athiel?  " 

The  doctor  stopped  and  thought  a  second  or  two. 

"  I  reckon  I  don't  have  to,"  he  said  —  and  whistled 
underneath  his  breath. 

And  finally  he  asked  of  me :  "  What  does  he  say  about 
it?  How  does  he  act?  " 

So  I  told  him ;  and  I  told  him  all  of  it  —  for  I  was 
frank  and  open  with  him  always ;  he  had  been  a  good  friend 
to  me.  I  told  him  all  about  it  —  the  thieves  and  fire ; 
and  the  windows  and  Vance  —  and  all.  And  all  that  talk 
of  "  Property."  And  he  listened,  looking  down,  drum 
ming  with  his  fingers. 

"What  has  he  got  there  —  do  you  expect?"  asked 
Dr.  Greathouse,  looking  up. 

"  That  Grummit's  Bank  they  talk  about,"  he  said 
prompting  me,  when  I  didn't  catch  him  first. 


86  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  never  knew.  I  never  thought 
it  was  my  business  to." 

"  Something,"  he  said,  his  lips  upon  his  joined  first 
fingers.  "  There  isn't  all  this  talk  for  nothing." 

And  then  we  both  sat  still;  and  he  was  next  to  speak 
again. 

"  No,  he  won't  go,"  he  said,  as  if  the  thing  was  certain 
in  his  mind. 

"  They  never  do.  You  never  saw  one  of  those  old 
misers,"  he  went  along.  He  always  called  a  spade  a 
spade;  and  if  you  didn't  like  him  you  could  get  another 
doctor.  **  You  never  saw  one  of  them  you  could  drive 
out  of  the  house  he's  got  settled  down  and  fastened  in. 
And  the  more  that  the  Fever  comes,  the  worse  it  gets 
here  — " 

"  The  more  he  will  stay  right  there,"  I  broke  in,  for  I 
had  figured  that  out  myself.  "  Fire  and  thieves !  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Fire  and  thieves.  The 
more  the  rest  go  out,  the  more  he'll  stay  there  watching 
out  for  fire  and  thieves.  That's  reasonable  to  expect." 

"  Look  here,"  I  said.  "  He's  got  to  go,  if  it's  going 
to  be  as  bad  as  you  say  it  is.  He's  got  to  go ;  and  some 
body's  got  to  make  him.  You,  for  instance.  You  might 
do  it." 

"  No,"  said  Dr.  Greathouse. 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  No,"  the  doctor  said,  "  this  thing  has  got  him." 

"What  thing?"  I  said. 

"  Something  stronger  than  you  or  I,"  he  said  — "  or 
he  is." 

And  I  told  him  that  I  didn't  see  exactly  what  he  meant. 

"  You  can  call  it  what  you  want  to,"  said  Dr.  Great- 
house.  "  A  Succubus,  maybe  —  that's  what  they'd  call  it 
once,  I  reckon." 


THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS  87 

"  A  what !  "  I  said.  I  wasn't  very  well  read  then,  at 
twenty-one.  I've  done  the  reading  that  I  have  done 
mostly  since. 

"  A  Succubus,"  said  Dr.  Greathouse,  laughing.  "  A 
thing  that  comes  and  sits  down  on  you,  and  rides  you,  and 
holds  you  till  you  die !  And  kills  you  finally  —  sucks  out 
your  life  from  you." 

"  Another  nigger  idea,"  I  said,  looking. 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing  in  his  old  good  na- 
tured  laugh  — "  some  other  savages  —  ourselves,  a  few 
generations  back." 

And  I  was  ashamed  of  myself,  when  he  said  it,  I  remem 
ber,  for  not  knowing.  I  was  afraid  of  him,  anyhow,  a 
little,  when  he  got  talking  that  way.  He  was  a  very 
highly  educated  man,  and  I  knew  it.  And  I  was  a  good 
deal  of  an  ignoramus  myself.  And  I  knew  that  too.  So 
I  didn't  say  much  then  —  just  sat  still. 

"  But  they're  real  enough,"  the  doctor  went  along. 
"  I've  seen  'em  by  the  hundred.  We  most  all  of  us  get 
one  as  we  grow  older  —  that  holds  us  down,  and  feeds  on 
us,  and  kills  us  finally." 

"  You're  getting  in  too  deep  for  me,"  I  said. 

"  That  gets  you,  and  holds  you,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  Like  your  Uncle  held  here,  for  example.  You  don't 
see  anything  that's  holding  him  here,  do  you?  Noth 
ing  you  can  touch  with  your  bare  hand?  " 

"'No,"  I  told  him. 

"  And  yet,  wild  horses  couldn't  drive  him  out  of  there," 
he  said  — "  when  everybody  knows  he  ought  to  go !  " 

"  No,"  I  said  — "  not  if  you  mean  it  in  that  way." 

"  I  do,"  said  Dr.  Greathouse.  "  I  certainly  do.  I 
mean  a  Succubus.  I  scarcely  ever  go  into  a  house,  where 
I  don't  see  one  feeding." 

"  Ah-hah !  "  I  said.     "  I  don't  take  much  stock  myself, 


88  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

in  these  invisible  things  you  can't  take  up  and  handle  in 
your  hands." 

He  got  up  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  from  his  chair  —  so 
quick  that  he  startled  me.  He  was  that  way  sometimes  — 
very  unexpected. 

"  You're  right,"  he  said.  "  You're  right,  son.  Here 
I'm  going  around  traveling  in  my  mind  again.  And  you 
just  waiting  naturally  to  find  out  what  to  do  !  " 

"  That's  it,"  I  said. 

"  I'm  tired,  I  expect  —  worn  out  and  useless,"  the  doc 
tor  said,  apologizing.  "  Old  and  tired  and  useless. 

"  But  that'll  do ;  that'll  be  all !  "  he  said  —  sweeping  his 
hand  across  his  eyes.  "  From  now  on  let's  talk  sense, 
like  real  men  do. 

"  He'll  stay ! "  said  Dr.  Greathouse,  briskly  then. 
"  Your  Uncle  won't  get  away.  We  can  count  on  that 
much  anyhow." 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  I  expect  we'll  count  on  that,"  he  said  again.  "  And 
you?  "  he  turned  and  asked  me.  "  Will  you  be  going?  " 

"  Well  —  I  don't  love  him  very  much,"  I  said. 

"  No,  I  expect  you  don't,"  the  doctor  said. 

"  But  nobody  is  ever  going  to  say  about  me,"  I  said, 
"  that  I  quit  him.  No.  I'd  stay,  I  expect,  if  the  devil 
himself  were  staying  there  —  if  he  was  as  old  and  feeble 
as  he  is  now  —  in  that  great  house  alone.  I  won't  have 
folks  saying  about  me  — 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  and  grinned.  "  No,  I  don't 
expect  you  would,"  the  doctor  said  at  last  —  and  grinned. 

"  What  are  you  grinning  at?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said,  "  I  was  just  wondering  what  holds 
you  here.  Nothing  you  can  see  or  touch  with  your  bare 
hand." 

"  Damn  me"  I  said,  thinking  all  the  time  of  Vance. 


THE  SOUND  OF  WHEELS  89 

"But  the  little  girl,"  he  said,  talking  to  himself, 
"  maybe  we  could  get  her  out." 

"  We've  got  to,  that's  certain,"  I  said. 

«  We  will,"  the  doctor  said.  "  We'll  do  it  —  if  there's 
nothing  ties  her  here  too." 

He  made  me  nervous,  harping  on  that  thing  —  that 
idea  of  his,  about  being  tied  there. 

"  I'll  come  to-morrow,"  he  said  then,  "  and  see  what  I 
can  do  to  get  her  out." 

"  She  oughtn't  be  here,"  I  said,  "  had  she?  " 

"  Nothing  could  be  worse,"  he  said. 

"  I'll  go  and  see  your  Uncle  about  her,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  I'll  find  some  excuse.  I'll  tell  him  I'm  advising  all  my 
patients  to  get  out.  I  am  too,"  he  said. 

So  I  shook  his  hand  half  off,  and  I  came  away  —  not 
thinking  then  how  long  I'd  been  there. 

"  You  keep  your  fingers  off,  you  young  hot-head,"  said 
the  doctor,  "  till  I  see  the  old  man.  Till  I  can  see  him 
anyway." 

So  I  hurried  back  —  remembering,  all  at  once,  when  I 
got  headed  home!  I  knew  then,  when  I  thought,  that  I 
oughtn't  to  have  come  there  in  the  first  place.  But  I 
was  bound  to  go  anyhow,  I  expect ;  bound  to  know  what 
that  doctor  had  to  tell  me. 

I  ran  up  the  steps  in  the  yard  from  the  street ;  and  up 
into  the  side  door.  And  there  in  the  hall  —  just  coming 
down  from  upstairs,  was  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

There  was  my  Uncle  Athiel  coming  toward  me.  And 
he  was  panting,  and  his  collar  was  just  melted  and  run 
down  his  neck ;  and  his  eyes  down  to  no  bigger  than  a 
pencil  point  —  shining  like  a  snake's  eyes  underneath  his 
yellow  lids. 

"  By  the  great  right  handed  Son  of  God,"  he  said  loud 
and  strong  —  and  stopped  to  look  at  me. 


90  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  You  certainly  are  a  good  and  faithful  servant  1 "  he 
went  on,  in  a  little  mincing,  sneering  voice. 

And  turned  his  back  on  me  and  walked  away  as  if  I 
wasn't  fit  to  look  at. 

What  had  happened?  I  didn't  know.  I  could  only 
guess  and  fear  it.  And  I  followed  him  around  afterward, 
trying  to  find  out. 

"What  have  I  done?"  I  asked.  "If  I've  done  any 
thing  that  I  can  change,  it's  your  duty  to  let  me  know." 

But  he  wouldn't  say  a  word  about  it. 

I  wasn't  sure  that  anything  had  happened. 

All  I  saw  that  night  was  that  we  were  being  held  there, 
by  this  thing  that  was  holding  him,  day  after  day,  while 
that  Yellow  Fever  came  crawling  up  to  us  from  the  city. 


BOOK  III 
THE  SECRET  ROOMS 


CHAPTER  VII 

SIGNS    AND    MYSTERIES 

IF  anybody'd  come  to  me  that  night  and  said: 
"  What's  this  thing  like  you're  so  afraid  of?  "  I  ex 
pect  I  couldn't  quite  told  him.  It  lay  over  there  — 
that  Fever  —  over  there,  in  the  city,  out  of  sight.  I'd 
never  seen  it  in  all  my  life.  All  that  I'd  ever  seen  were 
those  fires  at  night,  and  the  hurrying  and  the  faces  of 
the  folks  who  were  running  away.  All  I  felt,  I  expect, 
was  the  fear  of  the  fear  I  saw  in  other  faces.  But  that 
next  morning  I  had  a  different  idea. 

They  tried  to  tell  us  still  that  they  had  the  Fever 
checked ;  that  it  was  going  east,  if  anywhere  —  and  then 
only  very  slowly ;  and  that  there  was  nothing  for  us  to  be 
afraid  of  at  all.  But  I  never  believed  them  after  that 
third  day ;  I  never  had  the  slightest  comfort  or  confidence. 
For  it  was  that  next  morning  that  the  Dead  Wagon  went 
by  us  for  the  first  time. 

It  was  another  clear,  hot  morning  —  yellow  and  green 
—  the  yellow  early  sun,  and  green  shadows  beneath  the 
trees,  and  that  old  brown,  soft-coal  smoke  from  the 
kitchen  chimneys  floating  in  the  air  between  them.  I  was 
up  a  little  early.  And  so  I  stepped  out  on  the  porch  to 
get  a  mouthful  of  cool,  morning  moisture,  before  that 
old  hot  sun  had  drunk  it  all  away. 

And  there,  ahead  of  me,  was  Arabella,  upon  the  side 

porch,    making    little    dabs    with    her    broom,    looking 

93 


94  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

down  the  street.  I  heard  the  clack  of  an  axle,  I  looked 
down  and  I  saw  the  Dead  Wagon  come  crawling  up  over 
the  hill. 

It  was  nothing  much  to  look  at.  Nothing  but  a  com 
mon  old  furniture  wagon,  drawn  by  two  mules,  two  fine, 
fat,  sleepy  mules;  sleek  and  lazy,  and  all  fixed  up  with 
those  old  cow-tails  those  old-time  niggers  used  to  put  on 
their  harnesses. 

They  dragged  up  slowly,  their  ears  wagging  back  and 
forth  to  their  walking.  And  on  the  seat  above  them  sat 
that  nigger  we  heard  so  much  of  afterwards  —  that 
"  Make-Haste  Mose  "  that  hurried  so  with  the  dead. 

There  were  only  two  coffins  on  that  first  morning  —  two 
yellow  pine  coffins  side  by  side  in  the  furniture  wagon. 
Two  paupers,  going  down  to  the  Potter's  Field,  way  out 
south  of  town. 

Arabella  and  I  stood  watching  them  come  by.  The 
negro  Mose  sat  up  there,  lounging  in  his  seat,  eating  a 
piece  of  cold  bacon  and  corn  bread,  it  looked  like,  for 
breakfast. 

It  was  all  common  looking  enough.  They  went  by  like 
any  old  furniture  wagon;  and  the  coffins  were  pretty 
well  out  of  sight  in  the  wagon.  But  I  stood  and  stared 
like  a  man  in  a  trance.  But  it  was  for  that  reason,  I 
believe,  that  I  noticed  that  first  time  those  little  black 
spots  —  those  little  black  shiny  spots,  that  spattered  on 
the  pavement  of  the  roadway  underneath  the  wagon. 

The  wind  was  away  from  me,  thank  God.  There  was 
only  one  single  puff  of  that  monstrous  odor. 

But  then  I  looked  again,  and  saw,  shining  in  the  sun  — 
the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  them  —  that  little  golden 
trail  of  flies.  The  sun  was  quite  low  still ;  and  there  was 
still  some  moisture  in  the  air;  and  the  yellow  sunlight 
touched  their  wings.  You  saw,  when  it  came  back  of 


SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES  95 

them,  this  little  golden  swarm,  that  danced,  and  played, 
and  shifted  places  as  it  followed  in  behind  the  wagon. 

"  God,"  I  said,  when  I  caught  the  meaning  of  it. 
"  Those  flies." 

I  thought  that  I  was  talking  to  myself.  But  I  couldn't 
have  been.  I  must  have  spoken  it  out  loud,  for: 

"  Yassah,"  said  Arabella  right  away. 

My  eyes  turned  toward  her,  like  they  would  to  any  hu 
man  creature  in  a  time  like  that  —  I  believe  —  for  com 
pany. 

She  stood  there,  looking  —  studying. 

"  Yassah,"  she  said,  in  her  soft,  peaceful  voice. 
"  Them's  green  flies !  " 

I  looked  toward  them,  and  back  into  her  smooth,  brown 
face.  She  stood  there,  looking  off  then;  looking  off,  like 
she  saw  something  you  couldn't  see  off  there. 

"  Them's  green  flies  —  old  green  flies.  Just  the  same's 
He  sent  down  on  them  ol'  'Gyptians  —  for  signs  and  warn 
ings." 

I  watched  into  those  big  brown  eyes  of  hers  — -  and 
something,  all  of  a  sudden,  seemed  to  take  hold  of  her. 
She  smiled,  like  she  had  done  before;  but  more  —  more 
kind  of  radiant  and  rapturous,  like  something  had  been 
suddenly  lighted  up  inside  of  her. 

"  Signs  and  mysteries,"  she  said,  looking  out  behind 
me.  "  Signs  and  mysteries ! "  she  said  again,  in  an  old 
shaky  voice. 

And  I  didn't  say  a  word  —  watching  where  it  would 
carry  her. 

"Watch  out!."  she  said — "watch  out.  Ev'ybody. 
Watch  out!  Signs  and  myst'ries,  comin'  now!  Comin' 
—  like  they  come  down  on  them  ol'  'Gyptians !  " 

Then  all  at  once  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  the  smile 
stopped  where  it  was;  and  she  shut  up.  I  looked  back 


96  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

behind  her,  and  there  was  Vance  —  there  on  the  threshold 
back  of  me,  looking  toward  the  street.  The  old  Dead 
Wagon  was  just  disappearing  around  the  house.  I  hoped 
she  didn't  see  it.  I'd  given  anything  rather  than  have 
her  to. 

"  Arabella,"  said  Vance.  "  You  better  be  getting 
breakfast  on  the  table." 

"  Yas'am,"  said  Arabella,  and  went  along  in. 

"  You  can't  get  any  work  out  of  her  these  days,"  said 
Vance. 

"  I  reckon  not,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  She  just  stands  looking.  What  was  she  looking  at 
just  now?"  asked  Vance.  "What  was  she  talking 
about?" 

And  I  told  her  finally. 

"  What  is  it  she's  continually  staring  and  looking  out 
the  window  for?  "  I  asked  her. 

*'  It's  that  woman  —  that  negro  woman  from  Arkan 
sas  who  was  prophesying  the  destruction  of  Memphis  here 
last  winter,"  Vance  explained. 

I  hadn't  heard  of  it  —  not  to  understand  it. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Vance,  "  didn't  you  hear  about  that 
woman  from  up  over  there  in  Arkansas,  who  was  fore 
telling  that  this  year  was  the  year  Memphis  was  going 
to  be  destroyed  and  swallowed  up  in  the  ground  ?  " 

I  hadn't  heard  it,  but  I  understood.  Once  in  so  often 
one  of  these  religious  niggers  —  a  woman  generally  —  gets 
started  out  prophesying  that  the  earth  or  the  city  is  go 
ing  to  be  destroyed.  They  go  around  on  street  corners, 
and  on  the  church  steps,  and  sometimes  in  the  churches 
themselves  —  some  of  them. 

And  most  generally  it  starts  up  a  great  to-do  and 
excitement  among  the  niggers  —  or  in  a  part  of  them 
anyhow.  You  can  say  what  you  want  to,  about  the  nig- 


SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES  97 

gers,  but  they're  a  mighty  religious  race.  The  only  thing 
is  that  what  they  believe  —  the  ordinary  run  of  them  — 
is  so  mighty  strange  and  different  from  other  folks.  They 
won't  ever  tell  about  it  much,  if  they  can  help  it  —  only 
fool  you.  But  sometimes,  when  you  get  one  right,  you 
can  get  him  to  tell  you  some  things  they  really  do  believe, 
way  down  under. 

They  believe,  every  one  of  them,  they're  God's  people, 
just  like  the  old  Jews.  And  they  believe,  in  a  kind  of 
way,  that  the  Old  Bible  is  talking  about  them  when  it 
talks  about  the  Jews.  And  King  Solomon  was  a  black 
man.  They'll  show  you  that  right  there  in  the  Bible. 
And  some  of  them,  I  know  for  certain,  say  Christ  was 
black ;  and  I  believe  —  yes,  I  know  —  there's  plenty  of 
them  think  that  God  is  black  —  a  big  black  God,  watch 
ing  specially  after  His  black  people,  and  punishing  their 
enemies  and  oppressors. 

And  every  now  and  then,  there's  one  of  them,  like  I  say, 
gets  up  and  prophesies  —  a  woman  generally.  And  a 
big  cloud's  coming  up,  and  the  winds  will  blow  and  the 
trumpets.  And  the  black  angels  will  rise  out  of  the 
ground,  and  the  sinful  city  will  be  destroyed;  or  the  old 
sinful  world  will  come  to  an  end  —  and  the  great  black 
God  will  sort  out  the  wicked  and  righteous  forever.  For 
Heaven's  right  there,  they  think,  right  over  your  head  — 
a  lot  nearer  than  Texas  is  on  the  railroad  train.  And 
any  time  that  black  hand's  liable  to  reach  out  of  a  thunder 
cloud  —  up  over  you  —  and  close  up  heaven  and  earth 
together,  like  a  fan. 

"  But  why  should  she  smile  about  it,  Vance?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see?  "  she  said.  "  They  aren't  going 
to  suffer  —  those  ones  like  Arabella.  They  aren't  going 
to  die.  They're  sanctified.  They're  just  going  to  be 
translated  right  up  to  Heaven.  Drawn  up  by  white 


98  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

horses  —  this  last  woman  says.  They're  going  to  be 
saved  forever. 

"  And  St.  Michael,"  said  Vance,  "  will  stand  upon  the 
custom  house,  and  Gabriel  on  the  levee  and  blow  their 
horns.  And  the  city  of  Memphis  will  sink  into  the  ground 
and  will  be  swallowed  up  and  destroyed." 

"  Is  that  true?  "  I  asked.     "  Did  she  say  that?  " 

"Yes,  perfectly,"  said  Vance.  "That's  what  she 
said." 

And  so  at  last,  that  third  day  of  the  Fever  I  got  to 
understand  what  it  was  the  negress  stood  and  watched  to 
see  coming  up  over  our  hillside  from  the  city.  Death  for 
us,  but  not  for  her.  For  her,  white  garments,  and  sit 
ting  at  the  Right  Hand  forevermore. 

And  so  after  that,  we  went  into  breakfast  and  sat  down 
with  my  Uncle  Hagar. 

I  looked  to  see  my  Uncle  ugly,  after  what  I  had  done  — 
whatever  I  had  done  that  day  before.  He  was  that. 
But  he  was  more  than  that.  Generally  he  would  not  have 
spoken  to  me  until  he  got  good  and  ready,  but  when  he 
did  speak,  he  would  be  straight  and  ugly  and  downright. 
Now  he  seemed  to  me,  that  very  first  morning,  to  be  dif 
ferent  —  to  have  changed.  That  day,  and  those  days 
afterward,  he  went  around  with  his  head  down.  There 
wasn*t  a  word  out  of  him  —  to  me,  at  any  rate.  He 
wouldn't  look  up  or  speak  to  me  unless  he  had  to,  for 
something  he  had  got  to  have  done.  He  just  seemed  to 
avoid  me  entirely. 

He  didn't  go  off  of  the  premises  any  more  —  none  of 
us  did  that  now ;  and  only  very  little  out  of  doors.  From 
that  time  on  he  was  in  the  house,  principally;  and  nearly 
always  in  the  Purple  Room  —  shut  up  in  that  great  Pur 
ple  Room  where  he  slept,  and  in  the  little  anteroom  to  it, 


SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES  99 

which  he  had  made  into  a  kind  of  office  where  he  could 
keep  his  accounts. 

After  breakfast  that  morning,  right  away  he  disap 
peared  there ;  and  it  was  only  after  knocking  several  times 
that  I  got  him  down  to  see  Dr.  Greathouse,  when  he  came 
to  call  on  him,  like  he  told  me  he  would.  And  finally  my 
Uncle  did  poke  his  head  out  of  the  door,  and  ask  what  it 
was.  And  I  got  him  finally  to  go  downstairs. 

Just  what  the  doctor  said  to  him,  I  don't  know.  For 
they  went  in  together  to  Mr.  Bozro's  old  study,  at  the 
back  of  the  side  hall,  and  shut  the  door.  I  expect  he 
told  him,  like  he  told  me  that  he  would,  the  day  before  — 
just  before  I  left  him  —  that  he  was  going  around  telling 
all  his  patients  they  would  better  get  out  of  town  if  they 
were  able  to ;  and  that  Vance  ought  to  go  anyhow,  Fever 
or  no  Fever.  And  certainly,  now,  that  the  Fever  had 
come. 

They  came  out  of  there  after  a  while,  and  my  Uncle 
had  agreed  then  that  Vance  should  go.  I  could  tell,  both 
by  the  way  they  talked,  and  by  what  the  doctor  was  say 
ing  to  him  coming  out. 

"  You'd  better  all  go.  You'd  better  go  yourself,"  he 
said. 

"  Go,"  said  my  Uncle.     "  Go !     That's  easy  said. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said,  moving  near 
him,  in  a  kind  of  secret  way.  "  I've  got  to  stay  here. 
I've  got  to  save  what  little  property  I've  got  left.  I'm 
ruined  near  enough  the  way  it  is." 

"  Better  ruined  than  buried,"  the  doctor  said. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  my  Uncle,  looking  him 
in  the  face.  "  I  don't  know.  It  ain't  so  different." 

He  watched  after  the  doctor,  as  he  rolled  away  out  of 
the  yard,  whistling  again,  of  course  —  but  kind  of  softly 
—  and  got  into  his  buggy  beside  of  old  Mungo. 


100  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  then  my  Uncle  went  upstairs  again,  and  I  didn't 
see  him  out  of  his  room  all  morning. 

All  the  afternoon  it  was  the  same;  he  kept  out  of  sight 
in  his  own  room.  Vance  was  in  her  room  resting.  And 
I  was  up  in  mine,  trying  to  read  my  law,  and  not  succeed 
ing.  Lord,  how  hot  those  long  summer  afternoons  were 
that  we  had  then !  Long  enough  any  time  in  that  country 

—  with  the  old  white  sun  on  the  streets ;  and  the  river 
glittering  under  it,  white  as  the  shine  of  a  new  tin  pan; 
and  those  old  locusts  groaning  and  rasping  in  the  mag 
nolias;  and  even  the  birds  in  the  trees  gaping  from  the 
heat.     You  can't  work,  you  can't  read,   and  you  can't 
rest.     You  just  sit  there.     And  that  time,  when  we  sat 
there  waiting  and  watching  for  the  Fever,  strange  ideas 
got   simmering  in  your  head.     They   were   no   good   to 
you;  only  harm.     You  knew  that.     But  on  they  went, 
just  the  same;  you  couldn't  stop  them. 

I  got  thinking  about  that  old  Dead  Wagon,  and  its 
wake  of  golden  flies ;  of  this  invisible  poison,  that  filled  the 
air  every  night  around  us  —  and  wondering  how  far  it 
had  got  now.  And  of  Vance,  and  of  how  tired  she  looked, 
and  when  my  Uncle  was  going  to  send  her  away,  and 
whether  she  would  go  when  he  told  her  to. 

That  afternoon  he  didn't  speak,  nor  at  supper  time ; 
and  it  was  evening  again,  and  the  windows  closed ;  and 
Vance  and  I  in  the  sitting  room  —  before  he  walked  in  and 
told  us  she  had  got  to  go. 

She  was  standing  by  the  window  again  —  looking  out 

—  like  we  did  all  those  evenings  after  that,  toward  the 
city.     She  just  laughed  at  him  when  he  told  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  go,"  he  said.  "  And  the  doctor  does. 
He  says  you've  got  to  go." 

But  his  voice  wasn't  very  determined  talking  to  her. 


SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES  101 

"  What  do  I  care  what  the  doctor  says,"  said  Vance, 
and  I  looked  at  her  sharp  and  mad. 

"  I  believe  you  ought  to,"  said  my  Uncle,  but  kind  of 
indifferent,  like  he  was  repeating  something  he  had  been 
told  to. 

"  You  aren't  going,  are  you?  "  Vance  asked  him. 

"  No,"  he  said.     "  I  can't  go." 

"  And  you  haven't  changed  your  mind,  either,  have  you? 
You  think  you're  safe  still  if  you  stay  here  and  close  up 
the  windows  nights?  " 

"  I  know  I  am,"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  talking  up 
louder  and  more  positive,  like  he  did  naturally. 

"  Then  why  should  I  go  ?  I'll  stay  and  see  you  keep 
your  windows  shut,"  said  Vance,  and  laughed  a  little,  and 
turned,  looking  down  again. 

That  night  there  were  two  or  three  fever  fires  again, 
whose  reflections  we  could  see  from  the  window.  And  one 
of  them,  which  came  up  while  we  stood  there  —  especially 
bright.  It  was  down  underneath,  lower  than  we  were. 
We  couldn't  see  the  fire  itself,  only  the  reflection  of  it  on 
the  face  and  cornice  of  a  brick  block  opposite  it.  An 
orange  flame,  that  rose  and  fell,  and  shifted  the  black 
shadows  on  the  rosy  brick.  It  was  newly  lighted  —  just 
lighted  bright  and  fresh. 

"  What's  that !  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel  —  in  a  bigger 
voice  —  going  over  close  beside  Vance. 

He  stood  watching  it. 

"  That's  nearer !  "  he  said,  sharply.     "  That's  nearer !  " 

He  was  right.  It  was  nearer  —  nearest  of  any  yet. 
The  light,  upon  their  faces  and  the  window,  shone  quite 
distinctly  now  —  the  light  from  that  reflection,  when  two 
nights  before,  from  up  the  street,  it  was  just  barely  no 
ticeable  on  Vance's  cheek. 


102  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

The  Fever,  I  saw  it,  with  a  jump  at  my  heart,  was  no 
longer  going  east.  It  was  turning  south  now,  toward 
us. 

"  See  that !  "  my  Uncle  cried  out,  watching.  "  See 
that !  The  fools  —  they'll  have  the  town  afire  yet. 
They'll  burn  up  all  the  property  in  it." 

And  right  away  he  turned  and  started  straight  up 
stairs,  the  idea  of  getting  Vance  to  go  clean  gone  out  of 
his  mind. 

We  two  stood  there,  and  saw  that  orange  light  rise  and 
fall  on  the  face  of  the  old  block  —  fading  dimmer  now, 
than  when  it  was  just  set.  And  you  could  see  in  your 
mind's  eye,  down  in  the  street  which  was  hidden  out  of 
real  eyesight  —  the  dead  person  whose  clothes  were  burn 
ing  —  there  in  his  house ;  and  the  fresh  coffin  at  the  door ; 
and  the  nurse  maybe,  leaving  the  empty  house,  where  the 
other  folks  had  all  gone  away.  And  Make-Haste  Mose 
hurrying  up  in  there  to  take  charge. 

"  And  now,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  it  certainly  is  turning 
down  this  way." 

I  shivered.  I  couldn't  help  it;  and  especially  when  I 
could  see  plain  almost  as  the  shine  of  the  moon  that  orange 
light  before  me  on  a  cross  frame  of  the  window;  and 
across  Vance's  thin  cheek  again. 

"  What  is  this  foolishness  ?  "  I  said.  "  You're  goin', 
like  the  doctor  said  you  would."  My  voice  sounded  high 
and  sharp,  even  to  myself. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Vance. 

"  The  doctor  said  so ! "  I  said  again. 

"  What  do  I  care  about  the  doctor,"  said  she.  "  What 
does  he  know  about  it  any  more  than  anybody  else?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  astonished.  I  never 
did  understand  women  anyhow.  And  I  don't  believe  I 
ever  shall. 


SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES  103 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Only  two  days  ago  you  said  the 
doctors  knew  all  there  was  about  it  —  especially  these 
doctors  here  in  Memphis,  and  now  you  say  — " 

"  I  believe  my  father  knows,"  said  Vance.  "  I  believe 
he  wouldn't  say  that  about  closing  up  the  house,  staying 
here,  unless  he  was  sure  that  it  was  safe." 

"  What  does  he  know  about  it?  "  I  said. 

"  Don't  let's  talk  about  it  any  more,"  said  Vance.  And 
her  voice  began  to  sound  tired  again. 

I  looked  at  her  —  that  slender  thing ;  that  frail  crea 
ture.  You  could  take  her  in  your  hands,  and  break  her 
into  pieces.  You  could,  but  you  wouldn't.  That's  the 
thing  that  drives  me  mad  —  with  women.  She  could 
stand  and  defy  you  forever  —  indefinitely  —  laugh  at  you. 
Not  because  she  was  strong  —  but  just  because  she  was 
weak.  Her  weakness  was  the  weapon  that  she  beat  you 
with.  I  looked  at  her  and  listened  to  her  foolishness  — 
and  I  was  so  mad  I  almost  cried.  Just  helpless  mad. 

"  I'll  carry  you  away  if  I  have  to,"  I  said.  "  I'll  take 
you  away  by  force." 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  said  Vance,  laughing  in  my  face. 
"  What  could  you  do?  I  could  come  right  back." 

"You'd  come  right  back,"  I  said.  "You'd—  Oh, 
you  drive  me  crazy.  Haven't  you  any  sense?  " 

"  Just  as  much  as  you  have,"  said  Vance.  "  And  just 
as  good  a  reason  why  I  should  stay." 

And  I  said,  naturally,  I  didn't  see  it. 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  go  before  my  father  went?  "  she 
said.  "  Do  you  think  I  could?  " 

"  All  right,  then,"  I  replied,  talking  wild  like  a  boy 
does.  "  He's  got  to  go ;  then  he's  got  to  go  too !  I'll  see 
to  that  myself.  I'll  make  him  go." 

"  Beavis,"  said  Vance,  "  why  have  you  always  got  to 
tear  the  house  down?  Why  don't  you  have  some  reason 


104  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

about  you?  Don't  you  know  we  never  can  get  him  away, 
if  you  start  at  him  like  that?  Don't  you  know  you'll 
spoil  everything?  "  Her  voice  rose  while  she  was  talk 
ing,  and  her  big  eyes  looked  me  through  —  sharp  like  her 
father's. 

"  Spoil  everything !  "  I  said,  confused  again.  "  Spoil 
everything !  But  you  don't  want  to  go,"  I  said  to  her. 

"  Who  said  I  didn't?  "  said  Vance. 

"  You  did,"  I  said,  "  just  now.  You  said  you  wouldn't. 
It  was  perfectly  safe  here." 

"  No,  I  never  said  anything  of  the  kind,  never,"  said 
Vance.  And  I  stood  staring  at  her. 

"  If  you  didn't  just  say  that,"  I  said,  "  I'll  — " 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  argue.  It  just  tires  me,"  said  Vance. 
"  That's  all." 

I  saw  she  was  right.  I  saw  her  voice  was  getting 
huskier  and  tireder.  I  knew  I  had  to  stop.  There  was 
nothing  else  for  me  to  do  but  to  stop  —  beaten  by  her 
weakness. 

Just  stop  standing  there,  four  times  stronger  than  she 
was,  helpless.  So  mad  that  I  could  have  just  jumped  up 
and  down ! 

There  was  this,  though,  in  what  she  said.  It  would  be 
the  worst  kind  of  foolishness  for  me  to  try  and  get  my 
Uncle  Hagar  to  do  anything  —  the  way  he  felt  and  acted 
toward  me  that  day.  It  would  just  hinder  what  I  wanted, 
instead  of  helping  it. 

Afid  we  stayed  there,  saying  nothing,  standing  by  the 
window. 

And  as  we  did,  we  both  of  us  turned  suddenly,  listening, 
for  we  heard  my  Uncle  unlocking  and  opening  his  door  to 
the  Purple  Room  again;  and  coming  out  into  the  hall. 
We  stood  and  listened.  And  he  unlocked  another  door. 
We  heard  his  feet  upon  the  staircase. 


SIGNS  AND  MYSTERIES  105 

"  He's  going  up  into  the  third  floor,"  said  Vance  — 
and  still  we  heard  him  going  —  and  still  another  door  be 
ing  opened,  and  his  feet  on  other  stairs. 

"  He's  gone  up  into  the  tower,"  said  Vance,  excitedly. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  him  to  go  there  before?  "  I  asked, 
listening. 

"  Never,  I  believe.  Never.  Not  till  yesterday,"  said 
Vance.  "  Not  till  yesterday  —  just  before  you  came  in." 

"  You  know  those  stories?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  them,"  said  Vance,  her  eyes  shifting  off 
from  mine,  so  I  saw  she  didn't  want  to  talk  of  it. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  asked  me,  after 
waiting.  "  Did  he  seem  to  you  to  act  different  to-day?  " 

"  How  did  he  seem  to  you  ?  "  I  asked  her  back. 

"  Suspicious,  kind  of.  Always  keeping  off  and  avoid 
ing  me." 

"  Did  he  act  that  way  to  you,  too?  "  I  said,  surprised. 

For  I'd  thought  that  it  was  only  toward  me  that  he 
acted  so. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance,  "  I  can't  do  a  thing  with  him  — 
not  now.  He  won't  even  look  at  me." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    TOWER 

I  NEVER  see  one  of  those  old  vacant  towers  on  top 
of  a  private  house,  but  I  start  thinking  of  my 
Uncle  Athiel  in  that  tower  of  his  during  the  Yellow 
Fever  time. 

What  do  they  build  them  for  —  those  towers,  do  you 
know?  Nobody  ever  uses  them.  They  just  stand  there, 
always  empty,  always  useless  —  a  kind  of  summer  house 
for  spiders ;  spiders  and  dust,  and  now  and  then  a  crazy 
fly  upon  the  windows.  In  all  my  life  I  never  knew  of  one 
used  so  much,  or  to  so  much  purpose  as  my  Uncle  Athiel 
used  that  one  of  his  during  those  next  few  days. 

I  could  hear  him  moving,  faintly,  there  above  me  —  for 
he  seemed  to  have  left  the  doors  open  after  him  —  till  late 
that  night ;  until  I  went  to  sleep.  And  I  lay  there  for  a 
long  time  wondering. 

The  first  thing  that  flashed  into  my  mind,  naturally, 
from  the  time  I  first  heard  his  steps  on  the  stairs,  was 
Grummit's  Tower  —  that  old  foolish  story  that  the  nig 
gers  and  children  had  told  each  other  for  so  long;  that 
there  in  that  old  tower  my  Uncle  kept  his  money.  I  had 
never  taken  any  stock  in  that  story.  It  always  seemed 
ridiculous  to  me  on  the  face  of  it.  I  had  never  known 
the  man  to  go  there  once  before  in  my  whole  time  with 
him. 

And  yet  it  was  strange,  I  had  to  say  myself,  that 

106 


THE  TOWER  107 

now,  the  very  first  thing,  at  the  first  shock  of  panic,  he 
should  right  away  bolt  up  there.  I  was  puzzled;  more 
than  puzzled,  disturbed  and  worried.  My  mind  clung  to 
the  thing  like  a  drowning  sailor  to  a  board  —  trying  to 
understand  it.  But  I  was  mighty  sleepy  that  night,  too. 
I  would  go  so  far,  clutching  at  it,  then  drowse;  then  lose 
it;  then,  snap!  I'd  go,  jumping  nervously  awake,  and 
my  mind  would  start  circling  round  again. 

Vance  had  never  heard  him  there  either,  I  said  to  my 
self,  trying  to  let  it  go  —  almost  sleeping. 

And  then,  I'd  hear,  almost  as  plain  as  if  they  stood 
over  me,  the  voices  of  those  little  ragamuffins  standing  on 
the  walk  in  front  of  the  house,  and  saying,  like  I'd  heard 
them  say  that  time,  "  There's  where  he  counts  it !  There's 
where  he  counts  it !  " 

"  How  silly,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  children's  and  niggers' 
talk."  But,  of  course,  he  might  have  had  it  there  all  the 
time  —  Of  course  — 

Snap !  I  twitched  awake  again.  I  drowsed  and  woke, 
and  drowsed  again  until  finally,  as  it  always  does  in  the 
longest  night,  sleep  got  me  —  I  passed  into  a  stiff  and 
uneasy  sleep.  I  heard  the  faint  voices  from  outside  — 
the  dogs  barking,  those  old  howling  alley  dogs  across  the 
town.  But  they  were  a  long,  long  way  off  —  calls  in  the 
distance,  echoing,  echoing,  out  across  the  town;  and  then 
I  got  asleep. 

Vance  told  me  that  next  day  that  my  Uncle  Hagar 
stayed  up  there  in  that  tower  until  almost  morning. 

"  Is  there  any  light  up  there  ?  "  I  asked  her  —  for  I 
had  been  thinking  about  that. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  He  was  just  sitting  up  there  in  the  dark?  " 

"  There  was  a  moon,"  said  Vance,  "  part  of  the  time." 

"Wasn't  he  sleeping  there,  maybe?" 


108  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  No,  he  was  moving  around  all  night." 

"  Then  what,  what  — "  I  started  saying. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Vance.  "  Maybe  he  won't  do  it 
again." 

I  looked  at  her.  But  I  got  no  information  from  her 
face. 

"  The  thing  is  now,"  she  said ;  "  he  must  have  sleep. 
For  nights  now  he  has  been  without  it." 

I  saw  that  too.  He  couldn't  have  slept  more  than  three 
or  four  hours  since  that  first  night  the  Fever  came.  He 
had  been  up  all  hours  of  the  night. 

And  I  saw  too  from  her  face  how  worried  and  anxious 
Vance  was  over  it. 

"  Keep  away  from  him,"  said  Vance,  "  and  I'll  see  if  I 
can  get  him  to  take  a  nap." 

There  was  sense  in  that.  She  was  the  only  one  who 
had  any  little  influence  over  him,  and  he  certainly  needed 
it.  His  face  was  dry  and  old  and  worn  for  sleep.  He 
must  have  felt  the  need  of  it  himself  badly.  For  after  a 
while  Vance  went  up  to  the  Purple  Room  —  where  he  still 
kept  himself,  and  knocked,  and  got  him  to  promise  to  lie 
down.  He  did  too ;  and  slept  right  through  dinner-time, 
and  Vance  let  him  sleep. 

"  I  did  sleep,"  he  said  to  Vance,  when  he  woke  up  in 
the  afternoon,  "  I  did  sleep  — "  as  if  the  fact  surprised 
him. 

But  that  evening,  as  the  dark  came  on,  and  the  windows 
of  the  house  went  down  again,  he  was  shut  up  in  the  tower 
once  more  —  just  the  same. 

"  There  he  goes,"  I  said  to  Vance,  listening  to  him  go. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance. 

"  What  is  he  there  for?     Have  you  any  more  idea?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  him?  " 


THE  TOWER  109 

"  I  did,"  said  Vance.  And  when  I  asked  her  what  he 
had  to  say: 

"  He  just  looked  at  me,"  said  Vance,  "  looked  at  me  and 
walked  away."  And  we  both  of  us  sat  silent  for  a  while 
after  that. 

"  I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  like  the  way  he  acts,"  said 
Vance.  "  He  acts  like  he  is  suspicious  and  afraid  of 
everybody." 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  him  to  pay  attention  to  me,"  she 
said.  "  To  look  at  me  like  he  usually  does.  But  he 
won't.  He  won't  even  look  at  me." 

"  No,"  I  said  —  but  my  mind  was  going  in  a  different 
direction. 

"  Is  there  something  there,"  I  said.  "  Do  you  think 
there  is  anything  there  —  in  that  tower?  " 

For  I  knew  that  she  must  be  thinking  some,  anyway,  of 
about  what  I  was  —  that  thing  that  everybody  thought 
about  —  that  gave  the  house  we  lived  in  its  name. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so." 

"Why  not?  "I  said. 

"  I  never  did  think  there  was  anything  there,"  she  said, 
hesitating.  And  I  thought  then  I  could  hear  plainly  the 
emphasis  on  that  last  word. 

But  I  did  not  press  her  about  it  then.  I  didn't  want 
to,  if  she  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it.  And  so,  after  a 
while,  it  was  bedtime,  and  Vance  went  upstairs  and  left 
me  there  in  the  sitting  room  thinking. 

There  was  another  day  gone,  and  no  change  for  us. 
The  reports  from  the  Fever  had  not  been  bad;  they  said 
there  were  not  so  many  new  cases  that  day;  and  if  it  was 
coming  south  in  our  direction,  there  were  no  signs  of 
it  —  except  that  one  man  who  had  died  where  that  fire  was 
that  we  saw  the  night  before.  But  they  didn't  fool  me 


110  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

one  particle  —  I  knew  better.  I  knew  they  were  making 
everything  as  small  and  easy  as  they  could,  and  that  you 
couldn't  believe  a  word  they  said.  The  Fever  was  com 
ing,  and  we  were  held  there  by  my  Uncle,  and  he  was  held 
tighter  than  ever  by  that  house  of  his,  and  whatever  he 
had  in  it. 

And  up  to  that  time,  I  hadn't  known  much  about  my 
Uncle's  money  affairs,  I  hadn't  considered  it  any  of  my 
business.  I  knew  that  they  were  queer.  I  knew  that 
everybody  talked  about  him  as  a  great  old  miser.  But 
now  I  thought  I  had  to  know  and  understand,  especially 
if  I  was  going  to  get  Vance  away  like  I  intended  to  —  just 
what  it  was  that  was  holding  him;  and  whether,  as 
Vance  seemed  to  think,  we  could  ever  hope  to  get  him 
away. 

I  didn't  think  we  could,  for  I  did  believe  to  some  ex 
tent  that  he  was  just  what  they  said  he  was,  a  miser. 
And  I  knew  then,  just  as  well  as  I  do  now,  that  nobody 
ever  gets  one  of  those  old  misers  out  of  the  house  they 
got  used  to  making  their  hidings  in  —  not  till  you  drag 
their  souls  from  their  bodies ;  and  it  makes  no  difference 
how  much  they  have  got  there  —  whether  it's  much  or  lit 
tle,  they  get  fastened  to  their  house  like  an  oyster  to  its 
shell.  Or  at  least  that's  been  my  experience,  and  I  have 
seen  a  number  of  them. 

And  so  I  sat  thinking  it  all  over  —  about  what  I  had 
seen  since  I'd  been  there  —  all  those  queer  and  unusual 
actions  of  my  Uncle  about  his  house.  His  rule  against 
niggers  on  the  place,  all  but  that  sanctified  Arabella ;  his 
orders  that  she  should  be  kept  out  from  upstairs  and  the 
front  of  the  house  all  that  was  possible ;  his  closing  up  and 
locking  up  the  Purple  Room,  all  but  that  short  time  that 
Vance  took  charge  of  it  in  the  morning.  And  now,  this 
summer  especially,  since  the  Fever  came,  his  jumpy  fear  of 


THE  TOWER  111 

thieves  and  fire;  and  his  closing  of  the  whole  house;  and, 
last  of  all,  these  queer  visits  to  that  tower. 

And  when  I  got  thinking  over  that  all,  the  words  of 
Vance  came  back  to  me,  and  I  thought  again,  that,  though 
she  said  she  did  not  believe  there  was  anything  in  that 
tower,  she  had  almost  said  that  she  did  know  that  there 
was,  somewhere  in  the  house,  a  store  of  money,  large  or 
small,  which  my  Uncle  Athiel  was  keeping  guard  over. 

"  If  anybody  could  know,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  besides 
him,  she  would." 

And  then  I  went  up  to  bed.  And  I  knew  that  then  and 
long  after,  my  Uncle  Hagar  was  in  his  tower.  And  he 
stayed  there,  I  learned  from  Vance  next  day,  practically 
all  that  night  again. 

It  was  Saturday  that  next  day,  and  just  as  hot  as  ever. 
There  was  nothing  much  unusual  in  the  morning  —  except 
that  Dead  Wagon  going  by  again.  There  was  something 
wrong,  as  usual,  with  the  paving  down  on  Main  Street. 
And  from  that  on,  that  wagon  came  around  by  us  over 
that  hill.  The  coffins  were  growing  more  on  it,  I  saw. 
That  morning  there  were  four. 

Then,  that  afternoon,  right  after  dinner,  my  Uncle  was 
in  the  tower  again  —  in  the  daytime,  in  the  middle  of 
the  day! 

You  have  no  idea  how  hot  it  was  in  that  place  sum 
mers.  The  white  hot  sun  beat  down  upon  that  gray  slate 
on  the  roof;  and  streamed  in  those  little  bullseye  windows 
until  the  pitch  in  the  floor  boards  sweat  right  out.  But 
into  that  old  oven  my  Uncle  went  and  closed  the  door  after 
him.  Maybe  he  had  the  windows  open.  I  expect  he  did, 
but  mighty  little  good  that  did. 

Vance  heard  him  going  without  a  word.  Fifteen  min 
utes  passed,  half  an  hour,  and  still  I  heard  that  he  didn't 
come  down  again.  And  finally  Vance  came  out  of  the 


112  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

sitting  room  where  she  had  been  reading  and  listening, 
and  started  upstairs  without  a  word,  clenching  and  un 
clenching  her  hands.  I  started  after  her  to  the  second 
story,  and  saw  her  go  up  from  there  to  the  third,  and 
stand  by  the  door  to  the  stairs  to  the  tower.  I  saw  her 
try  the  door,  and  it  was  locked. 

Then  she  called  to  him : 

"  Dad,  Dad,"  she  said  to  him,  "  what  are  you  doing 
there?" 

There  was  no  answer  whatever  —  not  a  word. 

And  then  she  beat  upon  the  door  and  called  again. 

And  again  for  quite  a  while  he  didn't  answer.  Then 
there  was  something  —  I  didn't  hear. 

"  Come  down,"  she  called  again.    "  You'll  die  up  there !  " 

"  What  are  you  doing  — "  the  voice  of  my  Uncle  came 
through  the  door.  "  What  are  you  doing  following  me 
around ! " 

"  It  will  kill  you,"  she  said ;  "  you  can't  stand  it." 

But  she  knew,  I  believe,  she  couldn't  move  him. 

"  Go  away !  "  he  answered.  "  Go  away  —  I'll  come 
down  when  I'm  through." 

"  Through  what?  "  I  said  to  myself. 

"  Was  he  mad  at  you?  "  I  asked  her,  when  she  came 
down  to  where  I  was,  breathless,  for  the  third  story  was 
almost  as  hot  as  the  tower. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  His  voice  sounded  so,"  I  said. 

"  What  will  we  do  ?  "  said  Vance  sharply.  "  He  can't 
stay  there." 

"  Let's  wait  a  little  while,"  said  I,  and  very  soon  after 
wards  he  did  come  down  into  his  room  upstairs  on  the 
second  floor,  and  stayed  there  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

And  now  it  seemed  to  me  the  time  had  come  to  talk 
with  Vance  about  what  she  knew;  about  these  ties  which 


THE  TOWER  113 

bound  my  Uncle  Hagar,  and  with  him  us  two  as  well,  to 
the  house;  and  what,  if  anything,  it  had  to  do  with  these 
queer  actions  of  his  in  the  tower. 

"  Through  what?  "  I  said  to  Vance.  "  What  is  there 
for  him  to  be  through  with  up  there?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  can't  imagine,"  she  said. 

"  He  isn't  crazy?  "  I  said.     "  His  mind  isn't  touched?  " 

For  in  spite  of  what  the  doctor  said  that  idea  had  got 
going  in  my  mind. 

"  No,"  said  Vance  promptly.  "  He's  up  there  for  some 
purpose." 

"What  is   it?" 

"  I  thought  at  first,"  she  said,  "  he  might  be  up  there 
watching  those  fires.  You  know  that  first  night  there  was 
that  Fever  fire." 

"  But  you  don't  think  so  now?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  slowly.  "  You  know  before  that  —  that 
evening  you  were  out,  he  was  up  there  too  —  the  first 
time!" 

"  Yes." 

"  There  weren't  any  fires  then  —  there  wasn't  anything 
to  remind  him  of  fires  then." 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  when  she  stopped,  "  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

"  Is  it  his  money,  like  they  say?  "  I  blurted  out. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Vance,  kind  of  faintly. 

"  There  might  be,"  I  said,  "  some  reason  back  of  all 
those  stories  about  the  tower." 

"  I  don't  think  so ;  I  don't  think  there  is  any  money 
there." 

And  again  she  seemed  to  tell  me  that  there  might  be 
money  somewhere  else. 

"  Is  there  any  money  anywhere  ?  "  I  asked  straight  out 
of  her. 


114  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance  slowly.     "  Yes." 

"  Is  there  a  lot?  "  I  went  ahead  and  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  think  there  is  a  great  lot." 

"  I  never  asked  you  before,"  I  said,  excusing  myself. 

"  I  know  — "  said  Vance. 

"  I  wouldn't  now,"  I  said,  '«  if  — " 

"  I  understand,"  Vance  said.  "  But  it  isn't  there  in 
that  tower." 

"Where  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"  In  the  Purple  Room,"  she  said,  "  somewhere  in  that 
room  he  sleeps  in,  I  believe." 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  I  said. 

"  I  saw  it  once,"  said  Vance.  "  I  saw  him  with  it  one 
night.  The  door  blew  open." 

"  Paper  money  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Greenbacks,"  said  Vance. 

"  That's  all  the  time  you  ever  saw  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That's  all,"  she  said. 

"  And  yet,"  I  said,  "  he  might  have  taken  it  up  there 
to  that  tower  just  lately  —  since  the  Fever." 

"  It  isn't  locked,"  said  Vance.  "  It  wasn't  till  to-day 
—  the  door  was  open  after  him." 

I  remembered  that  she  was  right.  I  had  noticed  that 
too.  That  seemed  to  settle  the  idea  that  he  had  money 
there. 

"  Then  what  — "  I  asked  her. 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Vance,  "  for  it  is  something  on 
his  mind  eating  him  up." 

And  again,  for  the  first  time  in  a  day  or  two,  I  saw 
that  almost  invisible  shudder  pass  over  her,  that  I  had 
noticed  that  first  day  or  two  that  she  spoke  to  me  about 
that  dream  she  had;  that  came  to  her  when  she  spoke 
about  her  father. 

What  was  it  that  took  him  to  the  tower?  —  I  didn't 


THE  TOWER  115 

know.  It  must  be  something,  even  if  his  mind  was  going, 
like  I  sometimes  thought.  It  would  be  something,  some 
idea  that  would  take  him  there.  What  that  might  be  I 
did  not  know  yet,  but  I  did  know  now  that,  what  they 
had  all  thought  and  said  about  him  was  true;  that  he 
really  was  a  miser.  Somewhere  in  that  house,  in  that 
old  Purple  Room,  my  Uncle  Athiel  sat  and  watched  his 
hoard  of  money,  large  or  small,  whichever  it  might  be. 

I  had  never  been  in  the  Purple  Room  —  only  seen  it, 
passing,  through  its  open  door ;  but  I  knew  in  general  how 
it  looked  and  lay  —  with  its  high  ceiling  and  glass  chan 
delier,  and  the  fringed  purple  hangings  at  the  windows, 
the  fringed  purple  canopy  over  the  bed,  bearing  the  letter 
"  B  "  in  gold,  surrounded  by  laurel  leaves,  in  gold  too, 
like  some  bedroom  in  France,  some  bedroom  that  Napoleon 
built,  they  said.  And  a  long  purple  bell  rope,  with  deep 
fringes,  beside  it.  And  the  gilt  bands  on  the  dark  fur 
niture. 

And  in  all  that  showy  expensiveness  that  little  old  yel 
low  man,  common  as  an  old  shoe,  lay  like  an  emperor. 
And  always  at  the  head  of  his  bed,  under  where  that 
purple  bell-rope  hung  down,  stood  his  smooth,  old  yellow 
hickory  cane;  and  under  his  pillow  was  that  funny  little 
Derringer  that  years  ago  he  had  shot  a  man  with  —  in 
those  first  years  when  he  first  came,  a  boy,  into  that  Mis 
sissippi  River  country. 

I  went  over  the  thing  backwards  and  forwards ;  and 
after  I  had  done  that  about  a  hundred  times  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  what  I  was  going  to  do.  He  and  I  were  go 
ing  to  stay  there,  that  looked  certain ;  and  if  Vance  was 
going,  it  was  time  she  went. 

And  I  figured  then,  knowing  now  for  certain  what  was 
on  his  mind,  in  general,  that  I'd  play  for  all  I  could  on 
what  would  excite  him  and  interest  him  the  most  —  that 


116  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

need  of  watching  and  guarding  over  his  **  Property  "  he 
was  always  telling  about.  It  would  be  an  even  swap.  If 
he  would  save  Vance  for  me,  and  send  her  away,  I  would 
save  his  old  "  Property  "  for  him,  or  do  the  best  I  knew 
how. 

I  was  afraid  I  wouldn't  get  hold  of  him  that  day.  I 
had  nothing  but  sullen  side  looks  out  of  him  since  that 
row  of  ours  two  days  before.  He  kept  out  of  my  way. 
But  finally,  at  the  end  of  the  evening,  when  I  had  given 
up,  by  luck  I  caught  him. 

Vance  had  gone  upstairs  a  little  early ;  the  weather  was 
still  tiring  her.  I  sat  alone  in  the  sitting  room  for  a 
while,  when  I  heard  my  Uncle  coming  down  the  stairs.  He 
went  into  the  Crystal  Room  across  the  hall  first,  and  I 
knew  he  was  looking  for  a  second  time,  to  see  that  the 
house  was  all  locked  up.  Then  finally  he  came  into  the 
sitting  room  where  I  was. 

He  started  by  me  with  his  head  down,  walking  toward 
the  windows. 

I  got  up. 

"  You  and  I  ain't  been  getting  on  very  well  lately,"  I 
said  to  him. 

He  didn't  say  anything. 

"  It  was  my  fault,"  I  said.  "  If  you  want  me  to  say 
so  —  I  apologize." 

And  still  he  said  nothing  at  all,  and  started  to  go  along 
to  the  windows  again. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  I  said,  my  voice  rising. 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said,  giving  me  a 
crooked  look. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  you  do  or  not,"  I  said,  my  voice 
rising  some  more  — 1  and  then  dropping  —  when  I  thought. 
"  You're  going  to ;  and  you'll  want  to,  when  you  hear  me." 


THE  TOWER  117 

He  raised  up  his  head  then,  and  stood  and  looked  at 
me,  and  I  looked  at  him. 

"  I  want  to  make  you  an  offer,"  I  said. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  The  police  are  mostly  gone  out  of  this  town  now,"  I 
said,  "  and  the  firemen.  About  all  they've  got  now  is 
those  nigger  militia  companies." 

I  saw  from  his  eye  that  I  had  reached  him. 

"  And  the  time  may  come,"  I  said,  "  you  will  need 
some  help  here.  You  might  need  me  —  even." 

"  You  can  go  any  time  you  want  to  "  said  my  Uncle 
Athiel  in  a  dead  voice. 

I  took  hold  of  myself  and  held  myself  back. 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  "  but  I'll  make  you  my  offer 
first." 

He  didn't  say  anything. 

"  This  town  is  full  of  thieves,"  I  said,  using  his  own 
words.  And  I  could  see  him  move  a  little  in  spite  of 
himself. 

"  Well,"  he  said  finally,  «  what  of  it?  What  have  you 
got  to  say  to  me?  " 

"  Just  this  —  that's  all,"  I  said.  "  You  send  Vance 
awav,  like  the  doctor  says  to.  Don't  ask  her;  make  her 
go." 

He  stood  looking  out  the  window.  "  Ah  ha,"  he  said  — 
"Well?" 

"  Well !  "  I  said.  "  And  when  you  do  that,  you  can 
keep  me  and  use  me  for  your  nigger,  and  no  questions 
asked.  And  there'll  nobody  get  at  your  old  '  Property,' 
not  while  I'm  alive." 

He  kept  looking  out  the  window. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  something,"  I  said,  aiming  at  that  old 
fear  of  his  — "  when  this  town  is  all  closed  out  and  noth- 


118  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

ing  but  niggers  loose  here,  and  thieves  —  you  may  need 
another  man." 

"  You're  a  good  man,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  sneering. 
"  What  do  you  think  you  could  do?  " 

"Try  me!"  I  said. 

He  grunted. 

"  You  try  me !  "  I  said  a  second  time. 

"What  could  you  do?"  he  asked  again.  But  he  was 
looking  at  me  now,  not  out  the  window. 

"  Do !  "  I  said  —  I  was  afraid  I  would  lose  him.  "  I'll 
show  you ! " 

"  What  would  you  do  if  I  sent  Vance  away  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Do  — "  I  said,  getting  red  in  the  face  and  choking  a 
little. 

He  stood  there,  waiting  —  looking  up  at  me. 

"  Do  — "  I  said,  "  I'd  swim  Hell  for  you  —  if  you  asked 
me  to !  Provided  — "  I  said,  "  you  send  Vance  away 
right  now." 

And  he  turned  then,  and  gave  me  another  look  —  with 
a  quick,  little  black  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  it  was  the 
one  friendly  look  I  had  had  from  him  in  two  or  three 
days. 

"  She'll  go,"  he  said,  right  away.  And  so  we  stopped 
talking. 

"  You  keeping  your  windows  closed  down  tight  al 
ways  ?  "  he  asked  me  finally. 

"  When  I  promise  to  do  a  thing,  I  generally  do  it,"  I 
said. 

And  we  said  very  little  more  before  we  went  upstairs. 

I  went  upstairs  and  started  walking  back  and  forth, 
in  that  bedroom  of  mine  —  that  big  old  Red  Room,  with 
the  windows  closed.  I  was  a  little  excited.  It  was  hot, 
fearful.  But  we  were  getting  used  to  it  now. 

I  threw  myself  down  on  the  bed  finally,  and  went  to  sleep. 


THE  TOWER  119 

I  fell  asleep,  and  then  I  woke  up  all  of  a  sudden;  I 
didn't  know  for  a  minute  what  waked  me. 

It  seemed  as  if  there  were  a  lot  of  strange  noises  that 
night.  There  were  too,  some  of  those  first  nights  of  the 
Fever. 

I  could  hear  my  Uncle  moving  in  his  room  —  come  down 
from  the  tower  apparently.  I  got  up  stiffly  and  finished 
my  undressing  and  got  in  the  bed  again. 

Then  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  fire  a  gun  once.  And 
by  and  by,  as  my  mind  cleared  up  from  sleep,  I  under 
stood  that.  It  was  probably  some  one  firing  a  gun  in  the 
cellar  to  kill  the  Fever.  They  did  that  the  first  part  of 
the  time  —  some.  There  were  some  folks  who  thought  it 
killed  the  Fever  poison  that  formed  in  that  old  cellar  air  — 
where  they  had  cellars  —  nights. 

And  then,  of  course,  the  dogs  outside  got  started  bark 
ing  —  then,  and  several  other  times  that  night.  I  got  out 
once  and  watched  out  the  window,  but  I  couldn't  see  a 
thing. 

After  that,  over  north  of  us  the  Ventress's  cow  was 
mooing  and  calling  to  be  milked.  Their  niggers  had  gone 
away  and  left  it,  again,  that  night. 

I  was  back  in  bed  again  —  my  sleepy  feeling  pretty 
well  gone  now. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  I  started  and  sat  up  listening, 
for  I  heard  again,  real  distinctly  this  time,  the  tinkle  of 
that  little  bell  I  heard  before.  It  was  in  the  house,  it  still 
seemed  to  me.  It  must  have  been. 

And  it  certainly  sounded  like  one  of  the  door  bells,  to 
the  front  or  side  door  —  one  of  those  little  bells  jingling 
on  their  wires  in  the  cellar  way. 

And  I  said  to  myself  again :  "  Is  it  possible  that  some 
body  is  out  there  fumbling  around  those  doors  ?  " 

The   side   door  was   almost   right   under  my   window. 


120  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

There  was  nobody  there  —  I  could  have  seen  them,  but 
there  might  be  somebody  in  front. 

I  opened  my  door  softly,  and  crawled  out  into  the  front 
hall,  and  I  sneaked  up,  and  stood  by  the  window  in  the 
front  of  it.  My  Uncle  wouldn't  hear  me  —  he  was  too 
deaf.  I  stood  there  a  while. 

There  was  a  porch  over  the  door,  but  I  could  certainly 
see  anybody,  if  they  went  away,  or  certainly  hear  them  on 
the  porch  flooring.  But  so  far  as  I  could  see  or  hear, 
there  wasn't  anybody  there,  and  I  came  back  to  my  room 
at  last  certain  of  it.  There  was  nobody  there! 

My  Uncle  was  still  up  —  there  was  a  light  still  going 
under  the  crack  of  his  door.  But  he  seemed  to  be  going 
to  bed  now.  I  looked  at  my  watch  when  I  got  into  the 
room  and  it  was  almost  three  o'clock. 

Then  I  looked  out  of  my  window  for  the  last  time. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life  anywhere.  The  only  thing  I 
saw  at  all  was  a  yellow  light  —  a  kerosene  lamp  down  in 
the  second  story  of  the  little  corner  grocery  store  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill.  Somebody  was  up  there,  probably  get 
ting  ready  for  another  day's  work,  I  thought  first,  for 
they  got  up  very  early. 

And  then  I  said  to  myself  —  I  don't  know  why  —  un 
less  it  was  on  my  mind  all  the  time,  and  I  was  all  waked 
up  and  nervous  the  way  you  are,  by  those  different  sounds 
and  noises  around  the  house.  I  caught  my  breath  and  I 
said  to  myself  — 

"  I  wonder  if  they've  got  the  fever  down  there !  It 
would  be  just  the  place  they'd  catch  it !  " 

And  just  only  the  thought  of  it  drove  out  of  my  mind 
all  the  rest  I'd  been  thinking  of:  my  Uncle  and  his  trips 
to  the  tower;  and  the  noises  out  doors,  and  even  the 
sound  of  that  little  bell  that  had  just  been  worrying 
me  so. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    LITTLE    BELL 

IT  was  the  first  thing  that  I  thought  of  in  the  morning 
too.  When  I  came  downstairs,  I  asked  Arabella  if 
she'd  heard  anything  of  the  Fever  being  any  nearer 
to  us. 

"  They's  sayin'  somebody's  got  it  down  there  some 
where,"  she  answered,  nodding  toward  the  cross  street 
down  below  us. 

They  always  know  what  happens  —  the  niggers,  it 
would  astonish  you  how  quick.  It's  like  these  new  wire 
less  telegraphs  they've  got  to-day.  Let  anything  hap 
pen,  and  it's  known  by  all  the  niggers  from  one  end  of 
the  town  to  the  other  as  fast  as  a  man  can  walk.  It 
travels  down  the  alleys  like  wildfire,  just  by  one  stopping 
and  telling  it  to  the  other. 

But  that  was  all  that  Arabella  knew  —  that  story ;  and 
all  we  learned  that  morning.  I  had  no  real  reason  at 
all  but  nervousness  to  think  the  fever  was  there  —  noth 
ing  but  a  light  burning  at  night  the  way  they  do  when 
people  are  sick.  And  all  the  first  part  of  that  morning 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  there  except  that  empty 
street. 

That  was  Sunday  —  the  first  Sunday  after  the  Fever. 
I  can  recollect  it  especially  because  it  was  that  day  the 
city  began  to  have  that  deserted  look  it  got  to  have  after 
wards.  The  rush  to  leave  was  over  now,  around  us  any- 

121 


122  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

way.  The  sound  of  wheels  was  stopped.  And  now  the 
place  was  entirely  changed. 

The  streets  were  vacant,  the  churches  were  closed; 
there  was  no  sound  of  bells ;  and  the  houses,  around  us, 
anyway,  already  stood  with  their  doors  locked  and  their 
blinds  closed  —  with  that  kind  of  a  human  look  of  an 
occupied  house  all  gone;  just  facing  out  upon  the  mo 
tionless  street,  their  fronts  expressionless  as  the  faces  of 
dead  men. 

They  stood  there  empty,  with  their  sharp  black  shadows 
on  the  sidewalks,  and  the  hot  white  sunlight  out  in  the 
road  —  all  still  and  motionless.  And  for  half  an  hour 
at  a  time  not  a  moving  thing  went  by  —  not  the  shadow 
of  a  dog  or  man  moved  down  the  vacant  street. 

And  after  you  watched  it  a  while,  like  I  did  that  morn 
ing,  it  was  like  a  picture  more  than  something  real  —  like 
a  dream,  or  something  you'd  read  a  long  time  ago.  It 
wasn't  real  at  all,  somehow.  It  made  me  think  then, 
quite  often,  and  still  more  afterwards,  of  that  old  dead 
city  in  the  Arabian  Nights  they  used  to  read  to  us  about 
when  we  were  children  —  where  the  people  were  all  gone 
—  turned  into  fishes,  out  of  sight;  and  just  one  man  sat 
in  the  center  of  it,  half  turned  to  a  black  stone.  And  a 
number  of  times  I  got  to  thinking  then,  when  I  was  alone, 
especially  —  for  you  get  queer  ideas  going  in  your  head 
at  such  times  as  that  —  that  I  was  like  that  man.  Every 
thing  was  unreal  somehow.  Even  that  common  dirty  lit 
tle  brick  block  where  they  said  the  Fever  was  —  more 
especially  when  you  thought  it  might  be  right  there. 

The  next  word  we  got  that  the  story  might  be  true 
was  from  old  John  McCallan,  the  policeman.  I  saw  him 
going  by  later  in  the  morning  and  hailed  him. 

"  Good  mornin',"  said  John,  saluting  with  his  billy  at 
his  hat. 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  123 

"  I  heard  it,"  he  said.  "  I  heard  they  said  one  of  Jakie 
Otterman's  young  ones  had  it." 

And  he  stood  and  pointed  down  to  the  little  German's 
grocery  store  down  at  the  corner  of  the  street  below,  the 
place  where  I  had  seen  the  light  upstairs  on  the  second 
floor,  where  the  family  lived. 

"  But  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  John.  "  They  was  tel 
ling  me  they  wasn't  sure.  They  be'd  sure  all  right  if 
they  had  it  this  time.  It's  the  worst  it  ever  was,"  said 
John.  "  I  never  seen  it  so  bad  anywhere. 

"  It  ain't  there  yet,  I  don't  believe,"  said  John.  <c  It 
ain't  around  here  yet.  But  you'll  get  it.  It's  comin'  all 
right,  down  here  everywhere. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  out? "  he  asked  me  secretly. 
"What's  the  matter  with  the  old  man?"  asked  John, 
lowering  his  voice  and  looking  behind  him. 

I  didn't  have  time  to  answer  him.  For  my  Uncle  was 
coming  down  the  side-walk  —  coming  toward  us,  holding 
something  in  his  hand. 

"  John  says  maybe  they've  got  the  Fever  down  there," 
I  told  him. 

"  Down  where?  "  questioned  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

"  Down  there,  over  Otterman's  store,"  I  said. 

"  Look,"  said  John,  "  there's  the  poor  feller  out  there 
now." 

We  saw  the  little  grocery  man  come  up  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  a  little  ways  from  his  place,  and  stand  there 
wavering  —  a  fat  little  man  in  shirt  sleeves.  He  looked 
peculiar  to  me.  I  had  never  seen  him  before  without  his 
apron  on.  And  it  didn't  seem  natural.  It  always  seemed 
to  me  like  that  apron  must  have  been  on  him  when  he 
was  born.  But  now  the  store  was  closed,  and  he  had  no 
use  for  it,  of  course. 

He  stood  there,  kind  of  wavering,  and  teetering  back 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

and  forth  —  across  the  street  there,  on  the  edge  of  the 
gutter. 

"  Hi !  "  called  my  Uncle  Athiel,  "  has  anybody  got  the 
Fever  down  at  your  house?  " 

I  thought  for  a  minute  he  was  going  to  answer  him. 
But  then  he  looked  at  us  and  shook  his  head  —  to  himself, 
it  looked  like,  not  to  us.  And  went  right  back  without 
speaking.  And  you  could  see  now  that  he  was  pretty 
shaky. 

"  Poor  fool !  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  "  he's  drunk." 

"  They  get  drinking  when  they're  scared,"  said  John 
McCallan. 

"  Poor  fools,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  There's  nothing 
to  be  afraid  of.  I  ain't  any  more  scared  of  it  than  I  am 
of  sunstroke.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  keep  your  windows 
shut  at  night,  and  keep  out  of  that  poison  night  air." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  that  too,"  said  John,  polite  enough,  but 
with  a  way  about  him  of  a  man  who'd  heard  of  all  kinds  of 
schemes,  like  policemen  naturally  would  do  at  times  like 
that. 

We  all  stood  and  watched  the  shaky  little  figure  of  the 
groceryman  going  in  his  door. 

But  it  was  hardly  shut  behind  him  when :  "  Say,"  said 
my  Uncle  Athiel  to  the  policeman,  "  I  got  something  I 
want  to  ask  you  about." 

I  looked  at  him,  and,  what  he  had  in  his  hand,  I  saw 
now,  was  a  piece  torn  out  from  a  newspaper. 

"Is  this  right?"  said  my  Uncle.  "This  piece  in  the 
newspaper,  where  it  says  the  city  marshal  tells  folks  to 
shoot  anybody  they  catch  on  their  premises  after  ten 
o'clock  at  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sor,"  said  John,  "  that's  just  the  way  it  is." 

"  All  right,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.     "  So  that's  0.  K." 

"  Yes,"  said  John. 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  125 

My  Uncle  seemed  to  me  brisker  that  morning;  quite  a 
lot  different  from  those  two  days  before.  He  was  talking 
sharp  and  straight  to  the  point,  like  he  usually  did. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  know  that,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sor,"  said  John,  "  this  town  is  full  of  thieves." 

I  looked  up  at  him  quick,  for  he  had  taken  that  expres 
sion  my  Uncle  was  always  saying,  right  out  of  his  mouth. 
And  then  I  looked  toward  my  Uncle,  and  I  saw,  when  John 
said  it,  that  he  was  breathing  deeper. 

"  And  if  you  catch  'em  loiterin'  or  hangin'  around  your 
place  at  night,"  said  John,  "  you  got  a  right  to  shoot 
'em." 

"  And  that's  good  sense,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  "  a 
man's  got  the  right  always  to  defend  his  Property." 

"  Yes,  sor,"  said  John,  "  yes,  sor,"  shifting  his  weight 
on  to  the  other  foot  and  thinking. 

"  It's  naygurs,"  said  John,  "  thieving  naygurs.  All 
the  rest  of  the  thieves  have  left  the  town  for  fear  of  the 
Fever,  but  the  naygurs  don't  have  it  —  the  naygur 
thieves. 

"  And  they're  all  over,"  he  said,  "  all  over.  They're 
thicker'n  grass  in  a  sod." 

"  They  got  a  new  scheme,  I  notice  in  the  papers,"  said 
my  Uncle,  "  they're  setting  fire  to  people's  sheds  and  rob 
bing  their  houses  when  they  come  running  to  put  it  out." 

"  Yes,  and  them  nurses  too,"  said  John,  "  they're  takin' 
and  robbin'  the  dead  people  when  they  die  —  some  white 
ones,  but  mostly  naygurs.  Oh,  they  got  all  kinds  of 
schemes,"  said  John,  "  them  naygurs. 

"  And  they're  gettin'  into  people's  houses  where  they're 
gone  and  robbin'  them;  and  just  stayin'  and  livin'  there. 
What's  to  hinder?  "  said  John.  "  Half  the  police  are 
sick  or  gone,  and  more,  too,  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you,  Mr. 
Hagar." 


1£6  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Yes,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  "  and  half  the  firemen." 

"  All  they  got  left,"  said  John,  "  to  guard  the  town,  is 
these  naygur  militia  —  can  you  imagine  it,  sor?  "  he  asked 
— "  naygurs  guarding  a  town  ? 

"  Naygurs,"  and  John,  riding  his  favorite  horse  to 
death.  "  If  I  was  the  President,  I'd  shoot  the  half  of 
them ;  and  the  other  half  I'd  send  back  to  Af ricy  where 
they  belong.  If  there's  any  divilmint  in  this  town  it's 
them  that's  back  of  it. 

"  Well,  sor,"  said  John,  "  I'll  have  to  be  going,"  and 
started  off  like  he  hated  to. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  and  stopped. 

"  If  you  see  a  half-naygur,"  he  said,  turning  back, 
"  ahangin'  round  here  —  a  big  half-naygur  with  a  scar 
from  a  knife  across  his  face,  you  call  me  —  will  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  looking  at  my  Uncle. 

"  I  wish  you  would.  It'll  help  me  on  the  force.  You 
can  get  word  to  me  at  the  station  house,"  said  John. 
"  They  say  there's  one  hangin'  round  here  that  answers 
to  the  description  of  a  naygur  they  want  for  killin'  a 
white  man  down  the  river  —  a  Jew  peddler." 

I  looked  at  my  Uncle  again  to  see  if  he  was  going  to 
say  anything  about  that  half-nigger  he  had  kept  talking 
about  those  weeks  before,  but  he  didn't  move  a  muscle. 

"  He  killed  the  poor  Jew  for  his  pack,"  said  John. 
"  He  cut  him  to  death,  with  one  of  them  big  knives  them 
river  naygurs  have  on  them." 

"  I  expect  it  wasn't  all  his  fault  —  the  naygur,"  said 
John,  explaining.  "  I  expect  the  Jew  started  hollering, 
and  scared  the  naygur." 

"  They're  hard  customers  —  those  half  niggers,"  said 
my  Uncle  Athiel  — "  hard  tickets  when  they  get  started." 

"  The  worst  they  is,"  said  John,  "  they  got  the  worst 
of  both  sides  in  them." 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  127 

"  They  ain't  half  so  human,  any  of  'em,  as  a  good  dog," 
said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

And  so,  after  talking  a  while  longer,  about  the  Fever, 
and  how  bad  it  was,  and  how  he  didn't  think  sometimes  it 
was  just  only  Yellow  Fever,  but  something  else  —  some 
old  plague  or  other  —  the  old  policeman  finally  went 
along.  He  seemed  to  hate  to  go,  somehow.  He  was  a 
great  fellow  to  stand  around  on  a  corner  and  talk  to 
folks,  very  sociable.  And  I  expect  he  got  lonely  on  those 
empty  streets,  and  kind  of  hungry  for  somebody  to  talk 
to.  He  reminded  me  of  a  child  that  hangs  around,  hating 
to  go  into  the  dark  at  bedtime.  He  talked  around 
and  around,  and  up  and  down  everything,  before  he 
left. 

"  Lord,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  when  he  tramped  away 
from  us,  "  it's  lucky  nobody  ever  told  him  about  Christo 
pher  Columbus  —  he'd  never  stop  till  he  brought  him 
down  to  date." 

It  seemed  to  me  like  my  Uncle  was  a  good  lot  smarter 
and  brisker  than  he  was  the  day  before  —  that  time  he 
acted  so  suspicious  of  everybody.  In  comparison  he 
acted  almost  pleased  about  something;  and  he  certainly 
was  a  whole  lot  different,  in  his  actions  toward  me. 

Well,  we  didn't  hear  any  more  about  the  Fever  down 
below  us  all  that  day.  Once  I  thought  I  heard  the 
Whistling  Doctor  somewhere  —  down  in  that  direction 
somewhere  —  and  that  was  a  bad  sign,  for  he  was  working 
on  the  Yellow  Fever  now,  all  over  the  town.  But  I 
couldn't  see  him  anywhere.  Then  I  asked  our  Howard 
visitor  when  he  came,  if  he'd  heard  anything.  But  that 
street  was  out  of  his  district,  and  he  didn't  know.  They 
were  going  around  every  day  now  —  that  Howard  Society 
—  to  every  house  in  town,  to  find  out  about  who  had  the 
Fever,  and  help  them.  A  wonderful  fine  work  it  was ;  and 


128  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

something  to  be  proud  of,  but  a  good  many  of  the  poor 
fellows  died  of  the  Fever. 

So  that  afternoon  and  evening  passed  without  anything 
but  a  suspicion  in  our  minds  whether  the  Fever  was  really 
down  there  under  that  hill,  or  not.  I  sat  upstairs  in  my 
room,  like  the  others  did,  and  tried  to  live  through  that 
afternoon.  The  weather  was  just  the  same  —  only  worse 
—  that  clear  old  Yellow  Fever  weather,  with  that  pale 
greenish  sky,  and  the  white  sunshine  and  black  shadows 
on  the  streets,  and  the  birds  parching  and  gaping  for 
breath  in  the  trees.  And  afternoons,  just  after  dinner,  it 
seemed  to  be  the  hottest. 

If  the  other  afternoons  were  long,  they  were  nothing 
to  that  one.  In  spite  of  its  being  Sunday  and  all  that, 
I  got  out  my  Law  Book,  Blackstone,  it  was,  on  the  Rights 
of  Things  —  on  Property.  And  I  sat  and  stared  and 
tried  to  read,  just  waiting  for  that  afternoon  to  pass,  till 
I  thought  I  would  die  of  old  age,  just  sitting  there  and 
crossing  and  recrossing,  and  shifting  my  legs  around,  and 
sweating,  and  trying  to  read  Blackstone,  before  that 
afternoon  was  over. 

Sometimes  you  get  drowsy  days  like  that,  and  can  get 
to  sleep.  But  there  was  nothing  like  that  for  me  that 
day.  I  was  on  edge  too  much  —  wondering  if  the  Fever 
was  really  right  down  there  in  that  old  block  ahead  of  my 
windows ;  and  wondering  when  my  Uncle  Athiel  was  going 
to  do  what  he  told  me  he  would  —  and  send  Vance  away. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon  I  did  hear  him  come 
out,  I  thought,  and  go  into  her  room,  and  I  said  to  my 
self: 

"That's  better;  now  he's  doing  it." 

It  was  evening,  though,  before  I  got  to  learn  anything 
about  it.  We  went  into  the  Crystal  Room  after  supper, 
and  Vance  sat  down  at  the  big  black  piano  for  a  while  — 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  129 

like  she  generally  did  Sunday  nights ;  and  sang  some  Gos 
pel  Hymns.  They  were  mighty  popular  then,  and  my 
Uncle  liked  them.  They  were  about  the  only  music  he 
did  like,  and  about  the  only  way  we  celebrated  Sunday. 
We  used  to  sit  there  Sunday  evenings  in  the  dusk,  the 
three  of  us,  under  those  big  mirrors,  and  those  two  great 
paintings  of  Indians,  and  listen  to  Vance  play  the  piano 
and  sing  Gospel  Hymns,  and  it  was  about  the  only  time 
my  Uncle  came  in  and  sat  down  in  the  Crystal  Room  at 
all. 

But  after  a  little  while,  when  the  dark  came  on  at 
night,  he  got  restless  again,  and  went  upstairs;  and  left 
Vance  and  me  there,  alone  again  in  the  big  room  —  under 
the  eyes  of  Pocahontas,  and  De  Soto  discovering  the  Mis 
sissippi;  and  the  faint  figures  of  ourselves  sitting  there 
in  the  great  mirrors. 

"  He  saw  you  this  afternoon  ?  "  I  said  right  away  to 
her,  "  didn't  he?  " 

"  Who  ?     What  ?  "  said  Vance. 

"  Your  father  —  about  going  away  P  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you're  going !  " 

"  No,"  said  Vance.     "  No." 

"  He'll  make  you,"  I  said. 

"  He  can't,"  she  said.  "  Nor  you  can't  —  nor  any 
body.  I  won't  go.  Even  if  you  should  take  me  and  carry 
me  away  on  your  back,  it  wouldn't  do  you  any  good  —  I 
can  come  right  back  again." 

I  sat  still  —  ugly,  refusing  to  speak. 

'*  I'm  going,"  said  Vance,  "  when  you  go.  I'm  going 
to  stay  as  long  as  you  do,  and  there's  no  reason  why  I 
shouldn't." 

"  Except,"  I  blurted  out,  "  if  you  take  the  Fever,  it  is 
sure  to  kill  you." 


130  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  No,"  said  Vance  shortly. 

I  didn't  talk  —  I  sulked  again. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Beavis,"  she  said,  and  reached  out 
where  she  was  sitting  and  put  her  hand  on  my  sleeve  — 
"  Can't  you  see?  " 

"What?"  I  said. 

"  If  I  stay,  maybe  I  can  get  him  to  go !  " 

"  No,"  I  said. 

"  Maybe  —  if  I  can  get  him  out  of  this  way  he  is  now ; 
get  him  like  he  usually  is.  Get  him  to  look  at  me,"  she 
said,  talking  faster. 

"  No,"  I  said. 

"  I  can  try,  anyhow,"  she  said.  "  I  can  try  — "  and 
her  voice  started  breaking  a  little. 

I  looked  at  her,  and  I  thought  that  once  again  I  saw 
that  little  shudder. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  said,  but  she  didn't  answer. 

"What  is  it?"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  I'm  afraid !  I'm  afraid  for  him !  "  she  answered, 
breaking  her  silence  with  a  rush. 

"  Your  father !  "  I  said,  and  she  nodded. 

"That  dream— still?" 

She  nodded,  choking. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  forget  it !  I  can't  forget  it ! "  she  said, 
and  stretched  out  one  hand  before  her. 

"  Vance,"  I  said  sharply.     "  Are  you  a  perfect  fool  ?  " 

I  knew  I  had  to  do  something  to  stop  it ;  to  break  her  of 
the  foolishness. 

I  had  at  the  same  time,  all  the  time,  that  impulse  that 
I  always  had  at  times  like  that,  to  take  her  in  my  arms 
and  protect  her.  I  knew  that  sometime,  I'd  break  over  — 
and  make  a  fool  of  myself;  break  over  and  do  just  that. 
And  I  jumped  up  on  my  feet  and  stood  in  front  of 
her. 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  131 

"  You've  got  to  go,  Vance,"  I  said  for  the  hundredth 
time. 

She  didn't  answer  me. 

"  You've  got  to  go,"  I  said  louder. 

"  Don't,"  said  Vance,  "  please  don't ;  I  can't  stand  it ; 
first  father  and  then  you.  Don't  —  you  only  tire  me  — 
without  the  slightest  use.  I'll  go  when  you  do  and  he 
does.  I  told  him  so  this  afternoon.  So  don't  argue ; 
don't.  It  only  tires  me  — " 

And  then  that  voice  of  hers  went  again,  and  she  stopped 
—  whispering  the  rest. 

And,  as  usual,  I  stood  there,  so  mad  I  could  cry,  al 
most.  Stopped  and  blamed  myself  for  hurting  her.  It 
was  enough  to  drive  you  jabbering  crazy.  The  Fever 
right  down  there  under  the  hill,  maybe;  coming  toward 
us  anyway,  and  she  sitting  there  and  defying  us  —  both 
of  us  —  to  send  her  away.  And  both  of  us  unable  to 
send  her.  For  the  weakness  that  we  feared  for,  con 
tinually  defeated  us. 

I  got  up  on  my  feet,  I  remember,  and  went  stamping 
up  and  down  the  room  —  over  the  roses  in  that  deep  soft 
carpet;  pink  roses  they  were,  as  big  as  cabbages.  I  re 
member  watching  them  as  I  walked. 

"  Stop,"  said  Vance,  finding  her  voice  at  last.  "  Stop 
tearing  around  like  that.  I  want  to  talk  to  you;  and  I 
can't  when  you're  going  that  way ;  sit  down,  you  make  me 
dizzy." 

"What  do  you  want?  "  I  asked  crossly. 

"  Sit  down,  first,"  she  said. 

So  I  did. 

"What  was  it  you  saw  last  night?  "  she  said. 

"  When  ?  "  I  answered,  looking  at  her. 

"  When  you  heard  that  little  bell,  and  got  up  and 
watched  out  the  hall  window." 


132  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Nothing,"  I  said  surprised. 

"  I  didn't  either,"  she  said. 

"  So  you  heard  it?  "  I  said. 

"  Twice  now,"  said  Vance.  "  Yes,  and  once  or  twice 
several  weeks  ago." 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Vance.  "  I  thought  first  it  was 
one  of  the  door  bells." 

"  Let's  go  and  see,"  I  said,  getting  up. 

So  Vance  got  a  candle  and  we  went  out  through  the 
kitchen  to  the  cellar  stairs ;  to  the  back  of  the  back  stairs 
where  the  bell  hung. 

There  were  four  of  them,  I  remembered  when  I  got 
there  —  up  above  your  head,  in  a  row.  Two  for  the  two 
front  doors  and  two  others.  You  could  see  them  when 
Vance  held  up  her  candle  —  four  little  bells  on  their  coiled 
springs.  You  remember  them,  maybe  —  those  old-fash 
ioned  door  bells,  fastened  on  at  the  end  of  the  coiled  wire, 
and  you  pulled  the  knob  at  the  door,  and  it  pulled  a 
lever,  and  a  wire.  And  another  lever  jerked  at  the  other 
end  and  shook  the  coiled  wire,  and  set  the  little  bell  danc 
ing  and  jingling  at  the  end  of  it. 

"  One  to  the  front  door,  and  one  to  the  side,"  I  said. 

"  What  are  the  other  two?  " 

I  had  never  paid  any  attention  to  those. 

"  One  to  Dad's  room,"  said  Vance,  "  and  one  to  mine." 

And  then  I  did  remember,  I  had  heard  about  it.  Mr. 
Bozro,  in  building  his  great  house,  had  put  in  the  bells 
for  calling  servants  from  upstairs,  like  he  had  seen  in 
those  great  houses  he  had  visited  in  his  travels  abroad. 
One  for  the  Purple  Room,  where  he  slept ;  and  one  for  the 
room  of  Mrs.  Bozro,  the  Ivory  Room  that  Vance  had  now. 
And  the  bell-ropes,  big  flat  kind  of  tapes,  with  fringes  at 
the  end,  hung  down  exactly  as  they  did  in  those  great 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  133 

houses  in  France  or  England  —  only  I  expect  —  in  fact 
I  know  —  they  did  not  work  exactly  the  same.  Only  as 
near  as  he  could  make  them,  in  Memphis  then. 

"  But  those  two  were  both  disconnected,"  said  Vance. 
"  They  have  been  ever  since  we  first  came  here.'* 

We  stood  there  underneath  them,  looking  up  by  the 
light  of  the  candle  in  Vance's  hand.  The  bells  and  coils 
were  fastened  back  of  the  stairs  on  the  rough  boards,  with 
dust  and  cobwebs  all  around  them ;  all  rough  work,  as  the 
back  of  things  are  apt  to  be  in  our  country  —  and  the 
South  generally,  where  so  much  of  the  work  is  left  to 
niggers.  Just  all  splintery  boards  behind  them,  and 
above  them  and  under  them  two  little  cleats  they  were 
fastened  to  some  way.  But  the  two  bells  to  the  bedrooms 
were  disconnected  like  Vance  said.  You  could  see  the  old 
rusty  wires  where  they  hung  down.  Some  nigger's  job, 
I  expect  —  shiftless  ;  anybody  else  wouldn't  have  left  them 
swinging  there  like  that. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Vance,  looking  up,  "  that  a 
mouse  or  some  little  thing  like  that  could  crawl  up  there 
and  get  on  one  of  those  little  cleats  and  run  over  those 
springs  —  or  touch  them  some  way  ?  " 

"  How  could  he  get  up  there?  "  I  said. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Vance. 

"  I  don't,"  I  said.     "  No." 

"  I  still  believe,"  said  Vance,  "  that  somebody  is  out 
there,  outside.  I  believe  that  that  is  what  Dad  is  doing  up 
there  in  that  tower,"  said  Vance. 

"What?"  I  said. 

"  Watching,"  said  Vance. 

"  Oh,  moonshine,"  I  said.  And  I  stood  and  stared  and 
puzzled  over  those  four  bells,  set  up  there  in  a  row  above 
us. 

"  Listen,"  said  Vance,  all  at  once.     "  What  was  that?  " 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

It  was  that  man  down  the  street,  firing  off  his  shot  gun 
again  in  his  cellar  to  kill  the  poison  Fever  air  that  he 
believed  formed  there.  I  hadn't  thought  much  about  that 
before,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned.  It  was  like  a  lot  of 
other  strange  things  they  did.  But  there  we  stood,  at 
the  head  of  those  dark  stairs,  and  I  could  smell  that  old 
damp  cellar  air  under  us.  And  all  at  once  it  scared  me  — 
all  that  talk  of  poison  air  everywhere  was  getting  on  my 
nerves  a  little ;  more  and  more,  as  the  Fever  came  crawling 
over  toward  us.  And  it  might  be  that  the  Fever  bred 
down  there,  I  said  to  myself.  Who  knew? 

"  Come,"  I  said  to  Vance,  "  let's  get  out  of  here.  Out 
from  this  old  cellar  air ;  come !  "  And  I  took  her  by  her 
wrist. 

And  all  at  once,  without  the  slightest  idea  in  the  world 
I  was  going  to  do  it,  I  had  her  in  my  arms  pleading  with 
her,  begging  her  to  go  and  get  away  where  she  would  be 
safe.  I  just  gathered  her  up  in  my  arms  like  you  would  a 
child  —  to  protect  her,  with  some  crazy  idea  in  my  head 
that  I  could  shut  her  out  from  the  danger  that  was  around 
her  —  from  that  poison  air  and  the  Fever. 

"  Beavis,"  said  Vance,  struggling.  Some  of  that  hot 
wax  from  the  candle  came  down  on  my  hand,  I  remember. 
I  remember  that  old  cellar  dampness  in  my  nostrils,  and 
I  remember  too,  always,  the  warm  fragrance  of  her  hair 
against  my  face. 

She  still  struggled  silently  to  get  away  from  me.  But  I 
paid  no  attention;  I  just  held  her  away  from  me  and 
looked  into  her  eyes. 

"  Please,  Vance,"  I  said.  "  Oh,  please,  for  God's  sake, 
won't  you  go  ?  " 

Now  that  I  had  gone  that  far,  I  didn't  care;  I  was  be 
side  myself.  She  was  so  frail,  so  slight;  the  danger  was 
so  great  for  her;  she  was  so  much  to  me.  I  could  never 


THE  LITTLE  BELL  135 

doubt  that  now,  never.  And  the  thought  blazed  over  me 
like  a  flash  of  lightning.  If  she  should  die  of  this  thing; 
if  she  should  not  be  here  forever,  what  would  the  rest  of 
my  life  be  worth  anyhow?  You  know  how  it  is  when 
you're  twenty-one,  life  stretches  out  before  you  forever, 
and  the  thought  of  it  without  her  burned  and  stung  me 
and  threw  me  into  a  great  foolish  panic. 

"  No,"  said  Vance,  "  no. —  Please !  "  she  said  faintly, 
and  dropped  the  candle. 

And  the  light  went  out,  leaving  us  in  the  darkness. 

I  was  ashamed  of  myself  —  yes,  and  scared. 

"  Vance,"  I  said,  in  the  darkness,  "  I  am  ashamed  of  my 
self.  I  apologize." 

She  didn't  answer  me. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me?  "  I  asked,  and  still  she  didn't  an 
swer. 

"  Will  you?     Will  you?  "  I  kept  asking  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  after  awhile.  "  Yes,  but  don't,  don't 
ever  ask  me  to  go  again  —  not  until  my  father  goes,  my 
father  goes  —  and  you !  " 

Then  we  lighted  the  candle  again,  and  went  back  in  the 
front  hall  without  talking. 

It  was  Sunday  night.  The  niggers  were  having  their 
meeting  somewhere,  those  sanctified  niggers.  I  could 
hear  them  when  I  went  upstairs.  All  night  long  they 
were  going:  Clap!  Clap!  Clap!  Stamping  and  danc 
ing  and  marching  around,  and  singing  those  marches,  and 
those  old  mournful  "  long  metre  "  hymns  —  that  slide  up 
and  down  like  dogs  howling  at  the  full  moon.  Doing 
just  like  they  used  to  do,  I  expect,  round  the  fires  at 
night  in  Africa.  Thev  were  getting  more  and  more  ex 
cited,  those  last  few  days,  by  death  and  the  Fever,  and 
those  old  nigger  prophecies  about  the  end  of  the  world 
that  were  circulating  round  again. 


136  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

There  were  one  or  two  Fever  fires  on  the  streets  in  the 
city  that  I  could  see,  and  down  under  us,  looking  out  the 
window,  I  could  still  see  the  yellow  light  over  that  old 
grocery  store  like  I  had  the  night  before.  Then  I  went 
to  bed  finally. 

But  the  last  thing  I  remembered  was  the  niggers  clap 
ping  and  singing  somewhere  down  south  back  of  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  X 

HAGAR'S  HOARD 

ALL  night,  when  I  woke  in  my  restless  sleep,  I  heard 
the  sanctified  niggers  clapping  and  singing  and 
marching  around;  and  then,  toward  daybreak, 
screeching  and  hollering,  and  getting  saved  and  sanctified 
—  a  strange  noise,  more  like  something  barking  than  a 
man,  especially  when  you  listened  to  it  at  night.  They're 
afraid,  afraid,  and  screaming  for  fear  of  Hell,  and  yelling 
with  wild,  scared  joy  for  escaping  it.  And  in  that  Fever 
time  they  were  getting  all  excited  around  us,  anyhow. 
They  had  to  stop  them  afterwards. 

It  must  have  been  almost  daybreak  that  morning  before 
they  finished.  But  when  we  came  downstairs  to  break 
fast,  there  was  Arabella,  up  and  waiting,  with  that  same 
calm,  contented,  cat-look  on  her  face,  stronger  and  more 
peaceful  than  it  ever  was. 

"  Yassah,"  she  said,  when  I  asked  her  that  question  — 
we  all  wanted  first  to  know  — "  Yassah,  it's  come,  they  got 
it." 

There  wasn't  a  change  in  her  old  smooth  face  or  a 
flicker  of  excitement  on  her  face.  Only  it  seemed  some 
how  to  shine  from  the  inside,  with  peace  and  contentment, 
more  and  more  every  day. 

"  Down  there?  "  I  asked,  pointing,  and  I  jumped  up 
and  ran  to  the  window. 

"  Yassah,"  said  Arabella.  "  Down  to  that  little  gro- 
ceryman's.  They've  got  them  chimicals  all  over  the  street 

137 


138  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

—  you  kin  see  it  plain.  And  yondah  at  the  front  of  the 
yard  you  kin  hear  that  poor  woman  acrying  for  her  child ; 
and  the  poor  child  going  *  Um-um-um,' —  that  regular  ole 
Fevah  cry  out  the  window." 

"  Come  back  here  and  sit  down  to  your  breakfast," 
said  my  Uncle.  For  both  Vance  and  I  were  at  the  win 
dow. 

So  we  went  back;  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from 
there  anyway. 

"  When  you  goin'  ?  "  questioned  Arabella,  suddenly  to 
Vance.  "  When  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  We're  not  going  at  all,"  said  Vance.  "  You're  not 
going,  are  you?  "  she  said.  And  when  Arabella  shook  her 
head,  "  Then  why  should  we  ?  " 

Arabella  stood  staring  at  her.  "  The  colored  race," 
she  said,  "  they  don't  have  the  Fevah.  No'm  —  not  to 
speak  of.  But  the  white  race  —  they  goin'  die.  All  that 
stays  here.  They  all  goin'  die. 

"  You  better  go,"  she  said,  and  I  noticed  her  voice  was 
beginning  to  rise  up  and  grow  sharp  the  way  it  did  the 
morning  before. 

"  Your  father  better  go.  This  ain't  no  ordinary 
Fevah.  No'm ! "  she  said,  solemnly,  and  rolled  her 
head.  "  This  ain't  no  common  Yellow  Fevah." 

My  Uncle  didn't  say  one  word.  He  only  looked  at  her 
for  a  second,  and  looked  down  again.  But  after  that  she 
didn't  talk  any  more  through  breakfast. 

"  Oh,  look !  "  said  Vance,  from  the  side  door,  when  we 
went  out. 

The  street  in  front  of  the  Fever  place  was  white  — 
with  lime,  I  think  it  was.  I  can't  explain  just  how  it 
struck  you  first.  Like  the  silent  street,  and  the  golden 
flies  following  the  Dead  Wagon  —  strange  and  unnatural 


HAGAR'S  HOARD  139 

and  unclean,  somehow;  strange  as  snow  in  summer;  un 
natural  and  threatening,  like  some  scary  dream  of  a 
child. 

"  Come  back  here,  Vance !  "  my  Uncle  called  out. 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  want  you  out  there." 

He  spoke  to  her  that  way  as  often  as  not,  more  like  she 
was  twelve  than  nineteen.  I  was  glad  he  did.  For  she 
came  back. 

But  he  and  I  went  out  to  the  edge  of  the  yard  and 
looked  down  there  and  listened. 

There  wasn't  much  to  see  —  only  those  white  chemicals 
on  the  empty  street.  That  old  block  where  the  grocery 
was  looked  like  it  was  deserted  for  all  you  could  see. 
Closed  below  —  the  old  chicken  coops  standing  empty  un 
der  the  wooden  awnings ;  and  all  the  shutters  up.  And 
upstairs  where  the  Fever  was,  nothing  to  be  seen  besides 
those  wide  open  windows. 

But  then  all  at  once,  that  old  common  place  changed 
for  me  into  something  different.  For  I  heard  for  the 
first  time  through  those  open  windows  the  Yellow  Fever 
moaning,  that  curious  noise,  half  murmur  and  half  moan ; 
that  old  "  um-um-um  "  they  keep  agoing.  And  once  I 
did  think  I  heard  a  woman  crying. 

And  then,  right  away,  that  old  common  place  —  that 
old  cheap  grocery  block,  changed  into  something  strange 
and  fearful  and  fantastic.  You  have  the  same  feeling 
sometimes,  when  you  run  suddenly  upon  an  accident ;  and 
a  man's  face  turned  up  from  the  ground  all  drained  white. 
I  do,  I  know.  And  after  that,  for  a  while,  it  was  like 
something  deadly  hidden  down  there  in  that  old  brick 
block ;  and  I  wouldn't  have  been  surprised  any  minute  — 
one  particle  —  if  I  had  seen  that  old  black  poison  air 


140  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

Vance  thought  about  when  she  was  a  child,  come  drifting 
out  those  open  windows.  It  was  a  strange  feeling,  I 
don't  forget  it. 

My  Uncle  stood  by  me  and  looked  at  it  for  a  while.  He 
had  seen  it  plenty  of  times  before;  and  if  he  had  any 
feelings  about  it  at  all,  he  didn't  show  it  in  his  hard,  old, 
yellow  face. 

But  then  he  turned  and  walked  back  to  our  house,  and 
I  with  him.  The  sun  was  coming  up,  clear  and  hot  again. 
It  glistened  on  the  east  side  of  the  shiny,  rubbery  leaves 
of  the  magnolia  trees ;  and  the  locusts  in  them  were  drying 
out  their  wings  and  getting  going  by  fits  and  starts  into 
that  old  hot  weather  song  of  theirs.  It  was  another  old 
Fever  day,  hotter  than  ever.  The  damp  was  going,  and 
you  could  smell  the  heat  of  the  day  in  your  nostrils  al 
ready;  and  feel  the  first  dry  smart  and  tingle,  when  the 
sun  first  fell  upon  your  cheek. 

Vance  was  inside,  in  the  side  doorway.  My  Uncle 
walked  straight  up  to  her. 

"  Get  ready,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  to  get  ready  right 
now." 

"  What  for?  "  said  Vance. 

"  You're  going  to-day,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

I  was  more  than  glad.  "  Now,"  I  thought  to  myself, 
"  the  time  has  come,  young  lady,  when  you're  going." 
Her  father  wasn't  like  he  had  been  the  past  three  days  — 
moonshiny  and  absent  minded;  he  was  quick  and  nervous 
and  determined,  like  he  usually  was. 

"  Are  you  going?  "  said  Vance,  to  her  father,  looking 
at  him,  with  her  great  dark  eyes. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you  can't  expect  me  to,"  said  Vance.  "  It's  no 
different  from  yesterday.  I'm  going  when  you  and 
Beavis  go." 


HAGAR'S  HOARD  141 

"  You're  going  when  I  tell  you  to,"  and  his  black  eyes 
were  ugly. 

"  No,"  said  Vance.  "  I  wasn't  taught  to  think  that's 
what  Southern  women  do." 

"What?"  said  my  Uncle. 

"  Run !  "  answered  Vance,  "  get  scared  and  run !  " 

"  You're  going  if  I  tell  you  to,"  said  my  Uncle. 

"  No,"  said  Vance. 

"  You'll  go  if  I  have  to  take  you  by  force !  "  said  her 
father,  and  caught  her  by  her  arm.  She  shrank  the 
faintest  bit;  then  stood  still  and  passive,  looking  in  his 
eyes. 

"  You  hurt  me,"  she  said,  "  don't.  You  just  hurt 
me ! "  And  her  voice  was  very  low  and  even.  They 
stood  for  a  minute  and  looked  at  one  another.  He 
dropped  her  arm  finally,  and  went  away,  muttering  to 
himself,  and  Vance  stood  watching  him,  her  hand  holding 
at  her  arm  where  he  had  gripped  it.  She  was  breathing 
hard. 

"  You've  got  to  go,  Vance,"  I  said. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Vance. 

She  stood  there,  her  lips  parted,  still  panting  for 
breath. 

"  Sit  down,"  I  said  roughly.     "  Sit  down,  anyhow." 

She  looked  at  me  a  minute  and  I  saw  tears  come  up  into 
her  eyes. 

"  Go  away,"  she  said.     "  Please  leave  me  alone." 

So  I  went  out  into  the  stable  and  set  about  my  work, 
muttering  to  myself. 

We  got  no  further  with  her,  not  a  step.  Her  father 
hadn't  moved  her  an  inch.  Her  weakness  had  won  against 
him,  exactly  as  it  had  with  me.  Her  weakness  was  her 
strength,  like  it  is  with  women,  anyhow.  It  had  beaten 
him  just  exactly  as  it  had  me. 


142  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

It  was  an  hour  or  two  before  I  got  back  to  the  house 
again.  And  when  I  came  in  the  side  door  I  heard  Vance 
and  her  father  talking  in  the  big  hall.  And  I  thought 
with  a  gleam  of  hope  that  it  was  talking  about  her  going 
away  again. 

I  stopped  to  listen  to  what  he  would  say.  But  it  was 
Vance  who  was  talking. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  Vance,  in  a  sharp  high 
voice,  like  she  was  scared. 

But  he  didn't  answer. 

"  You  aren't  going  down  there  to  those  tenements  ?  " 
questioned  Vance,  and  her  voice  grew  sharper  still.  "  The 
Fever's  all  around  there.  You  aren't  going  down  there, 
no,  sir !  " 

I'd  come  around  by  that  time  to  where  they  were  stand 
ing,  facing  each  other  again.  My  Uncle  stood  there  with 
his  old  hand  satchel  in  his  hand.  And  then  it  came  to 
me  right  away.  It  was  Monday  again,  the  day  for  gath 
ering  in  the  niggers'  rent.  It  was  a  week  from  that  night 
he  had  gone  home  prophesying  Fever,  the  night  before 
the  Fever  came.  It  seemed  more  like  a  hundred  years. 

"  It's  no  use,  anyhow,"  said  Vance. 

He  just  stood  looking  at  her. 

"  There's  no  use,"  she  said.  "  Nobody's  paying  any 
rents  any  more.  It  said  so  in  the  paper." 

"  No,"  said  my  Uncle,  and  his  voice  was  rougher  than 
ever.  "  You  don't  have  to  remind  me.  I  know  that  with 
out  going  down  there.  I  know  that  property  is  worth 
less  like  the  rest.  You  don't  have  to  tell  me  I'm  ruined." 

She  stepped  back  a  little,  he  talked  so  loud  and  ugly. 

"  I'm  not  going  down  there  —  don't  you  worry,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  going  in  here,"  and  he  tramped  on  toward 
Mr.  Bozro's  study. 

When  he  went  in,  Arabella  was  there. 


HAGAR'S  HOARD  143 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  he  said  to  her.  "  Ain't 
you  through  here  yet  ?  Well,  get  through  and  get  out !  " 

So  in  a  minute  or  two  she  came  out  looking  back  of  her 
like  an  old  cat  when  somebody's  got  her  usual  chair,  and 
she  shut  the  big  brown  round-topped  door  after  her. 

"  Now,  what's  he  doing  in  there  ?  "  Vance  asked  me, 
when  they  were  both  out  of  our  way. 

For  my  Uncle  hated  that  place,  that  study,  and  made 
all  manner  of  fun  of  it,  with  its  big  black  expensive  fur 
niture,  and  its  great  center  table;  and  the  safe  that  Mr. 
Bozro  had  built  into  the  wall  —  that  the  key  to  was  lost 
now,  so  it  could  never  be  used.  He  never  went  in  there 
to  sit  by  himself  from  one  year's  end  to  the  other. 

"  First  the  tower,"  I  said,  "  and  now  this !  " 

"  But  there's  one  thing,"  said  Vance,  "  he  acts  better 
now.  He  isn't  so  gloomy  and  down-hearted." 

That  was  right  too.  He  seemed  as  sharp  and  smart  as 
I  had  ever  seen  him,  and  I  had  to  admit  it ;  but  that  didn't 
explain  why  he  was  in  there;  why  he  had  gone  in  there 
with  that  old  hand  satchel  of  his  that  he  carried  his  money 
in,  and  why  he  stayed  there  all  day. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  me  that  maybe  he  might  be  there 
because  the  Fever  was  down  on  that  side  of  the  house, 
and  he  could  look  out  the  windows  and  see  what  was  going 
on  in  the  street.  For  his  room  upstairs  was  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  house' for  that.  It  might  be  he  was  going  to 
stay  in  there  in  that  Study  right  along  now.  It  was  more 
understandable  anyhow,  than  his  trips  into  the  Tower, 
even  if  Vance's  explanation  of  his  going  up  there  to  watch 
was  right. 

But  what  bothered  me  and  made  me  mad  was  the  way 
he  had  forgotten,  apparently,  everything  he  had  said  and 
promised  about  sending  Vance  away.  Whatever  he  was 
thinking  of,  now,  had  wiped  that  clean  off  his  mind.  Nat- 


144  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

urally  I  was  mad.  I  didn't  care  much  what  he  did  him 
self;  he  could  do  what  he  pleased.  There  was  only  one 
question  with  me  now.  How  were  we  going  to  get  Vance 
out  of  there? 

But  I  did  think  then  too  that  his  actions  were  strange ; 
and  I  could  see  that  Vance  did. 

But  the  most  comical  thing  of  all  was  Arabella,  stand 
ing  or  passing  along  in  the  hallway  outside,  muttering 
by  the  closed  door,  and  trying  to  figure  out  what  he  was 
doing;  what  all  this  meant.  She  had  been  used  to  having 
that  room,  and  those  windows  to  look  out  of  so  long  that 
she  thought  they  belonged  to  her,  and  now,  when  the  Fever 
was  right  there,  she  had  to  go  outside  in  the  yard  to 
look. 

We  were  all  looking  down  that  way  naturally  now.  I 
sat  up  in  my  own  bedroom  window  reading  my  books  for 
quite  a  while.  And  I  could  see,  out  there,  Arabella  go 
out  in  the  yard,  several  times,  her  two  dogs  following  her, 
and  stand  in  the  shade  of  a  tree  and  stare  down,  over  the 
block  where  the  Fever  was.  And  come  back  again,  calm 
and  stately  as  a  steamboat  on  the  river. 

I  was  sitting  there  in  the  afternoon,  when  she  was  com 
ing  back,  and  I  saw  her  do  a  mighty  curious  thing.  She 
had  got  about  opposite  my  Uncle's  window,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  I  saw  her  stop  right  still;  just  stand  and  stare. 
Then  after  a  while  she  went  along,  looking  indifferent 
again  —  but  she  must  have  been  there  staring  a  half  a 
minute  or  so. 

It  was  after  that,  about  an  hour,  when  I  came  down 
stairs  to  go  out  in  the  yard,  and  I  ran  across  her  again, 
lurking  about  the  back  of  the  main  hall,  standing  at  the 
entrance  to  the  dining  room,  and  I  made  it  my  business  to 
go  outdoors  that  way  to  see  what  she  had  coming  on  her 
mind  now. 


HAGAR'S  HOARD  145 

I  turned  my  head  and  looked  at  her  when  I  came  by  and 
right  away  she  started  talking  and  asking  questions  in  a 
queer  kind  of  ghostly  voice.  She  was  excited  about  some 
thing,  that  was  certain. 

"  You  ever  think  —  you  ever  think  what  you  be  doing 
then?  "  she  asked  me,  very  slow  and  solemn.  And  the 
"  O-O-Os  "  in  her  words  came  out  of  her  like  an  old  owl 
in  the  twilight. 

"  Then !  "  I  said.     "  Then  what  ?  " 

"  You  ever  think,"  she  went  right  along,  "  what  you 
be  doing  when  that  Day  comes  around?  " 

"What  Day?" 

"  That  Judgment  Day  !  " 

I  stood  right  still  and  watched  her.  She  had  been  dif 
ferent,  a  little,  all  that  day.  From  the  excitement,  I 
reckoned,  from  the  Fever,  and  after  that  Meeting  she  had 
been  to  all  that  night  before. 

She  was  always  a  little  different,  mornings  after  those 
Meetings.  But  she  was  talking  more  anyhow  —  instead 
of  just  standing,  looking. 

"  Where'll  you  be  ?  Where  you  goin'  to  be  ?  "  said 
Arabella,  like  one  of  those  old  exhorters ;  but  talking  yet 
in  a  kind  of  whisper.  "  You  ever  ask  you'se'f  ? 

"  Where  you  goin'  to  be?  "  she  went  along,  "  when  He 
comes?  Playin'  cards  and  gamblin'  and  swearin';  and 
cahying  on?  Or  is  you  goin'  to  be  found  aprayin',  down 
on  your  knees  prayin'  ?  "  she  said,  talking  louder ;  and 
stopped,  looking  at  me  and  catching  her  breath. 

For  she  was  pretty  mighty  fat  and  heavy. 

"  We  better  be ;  we  better  be !  "  she  said. 

"  They's  some,"  she  said,  looking  in  a  meaning  way  at 
me  —  looking  at  the  door  into  the  hall ;  "  they's  some 
will  be  found  a-sittin'  and  a-countin'  their  money. 

"  But  that  ain't  goin'  do  him  no  good,"  said  Arabella, 


146  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

her  whisper  rising  louder,  "  that  ain't  goin'  do  him  no 
good  —  you  mind  what  I  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  Money, 
just  old  money,  that  ain't  goin'  do  you  no  good,  not  much 
longer ! " 

Then  right  of  a  sudden  she  called  me  over  by  the  win 
dow. 

"  You  see  them  clouds  —  you  see  them  clouds,"  she 
said,  pointing  over  in  the  west.  "  You  see  them  old  clouds 
comin'  up? 

"  Maybe  they's  the  ones  !  Maybe  they's  the  ones  !  " 
she  said.  "  Maybe  it  will  be  comin'  down  yere  to-night ! 
You  can't  tell !  You  can't  never  tell !  But  you  know  — 
it  ain't  long  now !  It  ain't  long ! 

"  Signs  and  myst'ries ! "  she  said,  in  that  old  secret 
voice ;  "  signs  and  myst'ries  eve'ywhere ! 

"  Look  out,"  she  said,  loud  and  stopped,  for  my  Uncle 
moved  a  little  in  his  room. 

"  Look  out !  "  she  said  softer  —  and  rolled  her  eyes  at 
me,  and  then  turned  back  suddenly,  back  to  the  kitchen. 

And  I  went  outdoors  smiling  to  myself  —  thinking  what 
wild  things  the  niggers  were,  and  what  strange  thoughts 
got  going  in  their  heads.  I  didn't  have  the  slightest  idea 
then  of  what  she  was  driving  at. 

It  was  about  half  an  hour  after  that  when  I  had  to 
come  back  to  the  house  for  something.  And  for  some 
reason  I  looked  up  just  as  I  passed  under  the  Study  win 
dow  and  looked  in.  The  window  was  pretty  high ;  you 
couldn't  see  much  generally.  I  looked  in,  and  just  as  I 
had  seen  the  negress  do,  I  stiffened  up  and  stopped.  I 
stopped  short,  then  I  thought,  and  went  along,  for  fear 
he  would  notice  it. 

For  there,  at  the  great  table  in  the  center  of  the  Study 
I  saw  my  Uncle  Hagar  sitting,  and  the  table  in  front  of 


HAGAR'S  HOARD  147 

him  was  all  covered  up  with  money !  I  couldn't  doubt  that 
now  at  last  I  was  looking  with  my  own  eyes  at  that  old 
"  Hagar's  Hoard  "  that  they  talked  so  much  about !  I 
saw  it  with  my  own  eyes ! 

He  sat  there  in  that  high  backed  chair,  one  of  those 
high  black  expensive  carved  chairs  that  Mr.  Bozro  had 
in  his  study,  dozing,  it  looked  like,  half  asleep,  with  his 
hands  out  on  the  arms.  Right  ahead  of  him,  propped 
up  on  the  table  was  a  book  —  a  big  black  book,  with  a 
red  back,  like  the  book-keepers  use.  And  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  table  sat  that  little,  old,  brown  hand  satchel 
of  his,  wide  open. 

But,  in  front  of  him,  where  you  could  see  it  perfectly 
plain,  were  all  those  piles  of  green-backs  —  fifteen  or 
twenty  piles  I  should  say,  anyway,  all  fastened  up  with 
paper  bands  around  the  middle  —  twenty  piles,  maybe 
more. 

And  there,  over  them,  with  the  windows  free  and  open, 
sat  my  Uncle  dozing  in  that  great  black  chair.  I  went 
along,  looking  neither  right  nor  left,  stiff  and  unnatural 
as  that  old  steam  automaton  they  said  they  had  in  Phila 
delphia  at  the  Centennial.  I  went  along  into  the  side 
door,  and  upstairs  —  and  into  my  own  room.  And  there 
I  sat  down  and  tried  to  think. 

I  certainly  couldn't  understand  it,  that  was  all.  For, 
suppose  the  man  was  all  right  in  his  mind ;  and  he  seemed 
to  me  —  that  last  day  anyway,  as  straight  as  a  string  — 
what  was  he  doing  there  with  all  that  money  spread  out 
in  the  public  way  in  broad  daylight? 

But  suppose  the  other  thing.  Suppose  all  that  fear  of 
his  —  all  his  losses,  and  his  great  house,  and  his  fear  of 
fire  and  thieves,  had  come  to  a  head  and  his  mind  had 
worn  out  under  the  strain  of  that  Fever  time  —  why  then, 


148  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

why  wouldn't  it  be  natural  to  expect  that  the  worse  and 
more  excited  he  got,  the  deeper  and  deeper  into  that  great 
old  house  he  would  have  hidden  that  money  of  his  ? 

I  sat  there  for  an  hour  or  two  and  puzzled  my  head 
over  the  thing;  and  I  got  nowhere,  not  before  supper- 
time.  Only,  the  more  I  thought,  the  madder  I  got  over  it. 

There,  under  my  window,  was  the  Fever  at  our  doors. 
I  could  see  the  chemicals  shining  white  on  the  street;  and 
the  woman,  the  mother  of  the  sick  child,  sitting  in  the 
window ;  and  sometimes  if  I  strained  my  ears,  the  moaning 
of  the  child.  There  was  the  Fever  under  our  windows, 
and  certain  as  to-morrow  morning,  to  come  to  us.  And 
there  underneath  me,  sat  that  damned  old  fool ;  thousands 
of  dollars  before  him  —  enough  to  take  us  all  to  Alaska 
and  keep  us  there  the  rest  of  our  natural  lives !  Sitting 
there,  bent  up  in  his  chair  —  over  those  old  green-backs 
—  like  a  drowsy  child  over  his  playthings. 

And  we  all  tied,  and  fastened,  and  bound  here  against 
our  will,  by  that  pile  of  paper  he  sat  playing  with. 


BOOK  IV 
THE  HALF  NIGGER 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    LIGHTED    MATCH 

IT  was  cloudy  that  night  —  dark  early.     There  were 
ragged,  tousled  thunder  heads  in  the  west  that  smoth 
ered  the  twilight.     And  down  the  vacant  street  the 
lonely  yellow  light  in  the  place  where  they  had  the  Fever 
was  started  watching  for  another  night. 

"  Poor  woman,"  said  Vance.     "  Poor  baby !  " 

She  stood  beside  me  at  the  window  again,  after  supper, 
watching  as  we  did  every  evening  now,  up  toward  the 
city,  toward  where  the  Fever  lay. 

"  You  remember  her,  that  little  one  with  such  white 
hair,"  said  Vance,  very  softly. 

She  stood  beside  me,  staring  with  those  deep  eyes  of 
hers,  lips  slightly  apart,  like  a  child  at  the  tragedy.  Frail, 
sensitive  women  are  so,  I  expect  sometimes.  But  I  never 
knew  one  just  like  her  —  she  was  such  a  very  fine  and 
delicate  thing  —  like  one  of  those  harps  they  set  at  the 
windows,  played  through  and  thrilled  by  all  the  unseen 
movements  of  the  air. 

She  stood  rigid  again,  watching  the  lonely  light  under 
our  little  hill. 

"  Vance,"  I  said,  finding  my  own  voice,  with  some 
trouble,  "  when  are  you  going?  " 

She  looked  at  me,  reproachful  for  asking  her  that  same 
old  thing  again. 

"When  are  we  going?"  she  said. 

"  He  won't  go,"  I  said,  looking  back  over  my  shoulder 

151 


152  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

to  where  the  high  brown  door  stod  closed  to  the  Study. 

"  Maybe  he  will,"  Vance  answered  slowly. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said  after  a  while,  "  I  believe  I  could 
get  him  to  go  myself,  if  he  would  only  look  at  me.  I 
think,"  she  said,  and  choked  a  little,  "  I  think  my  father 
thinks  a  lot  of  me  in  his  way,  but  now  he  won't  see  me, 
even. 

"  And  I  can't  force  myself  on  him.  That  would  be 
worse  than  nothing,"  she  said.  "  You  know  that." 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

She  waited  till  her  voice  grew  steadier. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  this  thing  always  on  his  mind,"  she 
said.  "What  is  it?  What  do  you  believe  it  is?  What 
is  he  always  thinking  about  ?  "  she  said,  looking  up  at  me. 

"  Property,"  I  said,  "  his  Property."  I  caught  my 
self  just  in  time  from  saying  right  out  "  His  money." 
For  that  would  never  do  to  tell  her  —  that  queer  business 
of  her  father's  that  I  had  just  seen  that  afternoon  —  not 
if  I  ever  hoped  to  get  her  away  from  there. 

"  No,"  said  Vance. 

"What  then?"  I  asked  her. 

"  Thieves  and  fire,"  said  she,  repeating  from  her  father. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  That's  just  another  way  of  saying 
it,"  I  told  her. 

"  But  I  believe  he's  watching  something  in  particular, 
or  some  one !  "  she  went  on.  "  I've  said  that  all  the  time 

—  in  the  tower  at  night,  from  his  room,  and  now  in  there. 
He's  watching  there,"  and  she  nodded  toward  him  where 
he  was  sitting  in  the  Study. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  know  positively  that  isn't  so.  I 
know  he  isn't  watching !  " 

"How  can  you  know  for  certain?"  she  asked.  And 
naturally  I  could  not  tell  her  of  the  thing  that  I  had  seen 

—  that  sight  of  "  Hagar's  Hoard  "  through  the  windows 


THE  LIGHTED  MATCH  153 

that  proved  for  certain  he  could  not  have  feared  there 
were  any  thieves  about. 

"  Well,"  said  Vance,  contradicting  me,  "  I  just  know 
that  it  is  !  " 

"  Why?  "  I  said  —  just  to  hear  what  was  in  her  mind, 
certain  all  the  time  she  was  wrong. 

"  Because,"  she  said  to  me,  "  in  the  first  place  I  believe 
there  is  some  one  watching  him." 

"  Watching  him,"  I  said. 

"  Always,"  she  said,  "  for  days.  What  is  that  bell?  " 
she  asked.  "  That  door  bell  ringing  for?  " 

"  Have  you  heard  it  again  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes  —  again  last  night,"  she  said. 

"  And  why  are  the  dogs  so  restless,  always,  after  mid 
night?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said.  "  I  expect  they  always  find 
something  the}7  can  bark  about." 

"  They  do,"  said  Vance,  looking  at  me  — "  around  this 
house." 

"  It's  mighty  easy,  Vance,"  I  said,  "  to  get  too  nervous 
at  a  time  like  this." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it  ?  Don't  you  believe  I'm  right  ?  " 
she  said.  "  Isn't  it  sensible  to  think  so?  All  those  stories 
they  started ;  that  got  the  niggers  talking.  All  those 
thieves  and  jail-birds  down  here  along  the  river.  You 
know  yourself  what  it's  like  down  there;  what  happens 
to  an  honest  man  out  there  alone  after  nightfall.  How 
many  of  them  —  gone,  and  never  seen  again,  excepting 
maybe  far  down  the  river!  And  now,  just  like  Dad 
says,"  she  went  along,  "  the  whole  town  is  full  of  thieves. 
Some  of  them,  I  believe ;  some  of  them,  are  certainly  watch 
ing  us." 

"  So  your  father  says,"  I  said,  and  smiled  at  her  — 
certain  she  was  on  the  wrong  track. 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Isn't  that  so  ?  "  asked  Vance.  "  Aren't  there  thieves 
now  everywhere?  If  everybody  didn't  know  it,  would 
they  have  that?  "  and  pointed. 

Up  the  street  from  the  city,  while  she  was  talking,  two 
nigger  soldiers  —  two  of  those  nigger  militia  in  bright 
blue  and  red  uniforms,  that  they  appointed  to  keep  peace 
and  order  in  the  town  —  came  along  by,  patrolling  the 
town,  as  they  did,  after  that,  in  pairs. 

"  No,"  said  Vance,  looking  at  them  going  by,  "  some 
body  is  certainly  watching  here !  " 

"  I  expect,"  I  said,  "  you'll  say  pretty  quick  you've 
seen  that  half  nigger  that  your  father  talked  about  this 
summer." 

"  That's  what  I  was  coming  at,"  said  Vance.  "  I  be 
lieve  maybe  I  have.  There's  been  one  to-day  and  yester 
day,  loitering  in  the  alley;  a  great  fawn-colored  nigger 
with  a  great  long  scar  on  his  face." 

"  You  saw  that !  "  I  said,  quickly,  for  I  saw  right  away 
that  here  was  John  McCallan's  man,  the  nigger  wanted  on 
suspicion  of  the  killing  of  that  Jew. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance.  "  And  I  believe  that  Dad's  been 
seeing  it  too.  I  believe  that's  all  he's  been  doing  —  first 
in  that  tower,  and  now  here." 

"  And  I  know  that  it  isn't,"  I  said,  more  sharp  and 
certain. 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  asked  Vance,  again. 

And  again  I  couldn't  tell  her. 

"  I'll  tell  you  sometime,"  I  said,  "  but  not  now." 

"  You're  wrong,"  said  Vance,  just  as  certain  as  I  was. 

"  And  another  thing,"  she  went  on,  then ;  "  Another 
thing  I'm  going  to  ask  you:  Do  you  believe  anybody 
could  be  in  that  Ventress  house?  " 

"Why?"  I  asked  her. 


THE  LIGHTED  MATCH  155 

"  Well,  there  are  in  lots  of  houses  now  —  all  over  the 
city  —  you  know  that.  All  these  vacant  houses." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  but  that  doesn't  prove  anything  about 
this  one." 

"  No,"  said  Vance,  "  only  I  got  it  into  my  head  some 
way  — " 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  —  like  she  didn't  care  to. 

"But  why?" 

"  The  shades,"  she  said  at  last.  "  It  seems  to  me  the 
shades  in  those  windows  there  are  different,  are  changed 
some  way  on  different  days." 

"  Oh,  moonshine !  "  I  said,  and  laughed. 

The  servants  might  have  been  back  in  that  house  again. 
She  might  be  entirely  mistaken  about  such  a  little  thing 
as  the  position  of  a  window  shade.  If  ever  there  was  a 
woman's  way  of  seeing  and  worrying  about  things,  that 
was  it. 

"  Let's  talk  of  something  real,  Vance,"  I  said.  "  Let's 
think  about  the  Fever. 

"  There  it  is,  right  here,"  I  said,  "  right  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  us ;  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  asked  Vance. 

"  Are  you  going  to  go  like  we  want  you  to  ?  " 

"  When  you  do,"  she  said  again. 

"  But  that's  no  time  at  all.  He  won't  go,"  I  said  — 
"  your  father,  he  won't  go  at  all." 

"  He  might,  perhaps,"  said  Vance. 

Then  I  lost  my  head  a  little,  as  usual,  at  her  arguing 
and  obstinateness. 

"  There  it  is,"  I  said,  "  under  your  windows,  death  for 
certain !  The  air  alive  with  this  old  Fever  poison.  Do 
you  expect,  now  it's  got  here,  you  can  shut  it  out?  Do 


156  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

you  think  you  can  shut  out  that  poison  by  just  only  clos 
ing  down  your  windows  in  the  night  time?  " 

"  I  believe  my  father  knows,"  said  Vance,  faintly. 
"  After  all  the  times  he's  seen  it.  I  believe  he  knows,  if 
anybody  does." 

"  It  will  be  all  around  us  in  three  days,"  I  said.  "  Do 
you  believe  it  will  pass  us  by  ? 

"  I  expect  you  think,"  I  said,  bitterly,  when  she  did  not 
answer,  and  seemed  not  to  be  listening  to  me  at  all  —  just 
looking  off.  "  I  expect  you  think  it  will  go  right  by  our 
closed  windows,  without  getting  a  one  of  us." 

"  One  of  us,"  said  Vance,  starting.     "  Oh !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  said,  moving  toward  her. 

"  One   of  us ! "   she   said  again,   catching  her  breath. 

"  Oh,  I  see !  I  didn't  understand  you  first."  And  then 
tried  to  pass  it  off,  and  couldn't. 

I  saw  then  what  I  had  blundered  into.  She  was  shiver 
ing  now,  noticeably,  through  all  her  slender  body,  worse 
than  ever  before. 

"  Vance,"  I  said,  and  put  my  arm  about  her  shoulders, 
steadying  her.  "  Vance,  quit  it." 

For  I  knew  of  course  it  was  that  dream  again  —  about 
her  father. 

"  I  will ;  I  will,"  she  said.  I  could  feel  the  muscles  of 
her  arms  tightening  with  the  effort. 

I  stood  there,  waiting  for  her  to  control  herself. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  she  said,  in  a  husky  voice.  "  I'm 
going  upstairs." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Vance,"  I  said,  apologizing. 

"  No,  I'm  a  little  fool,  that's  all,"  she  said,  and  left  me. 

But  she  turned  back  as  she  was  going  out. 

"  I  had  two  other  dreams  like  that,"  she  said,  "  and 
both  came  true.  One  of  them,  when  my  mother  died." 

She  turned,  and  left,  and  I  watched  her  —  her  lithe, 


THE  LIGHTED  MATCH  157 

little  figure  go  climbing  up  the  stairs  into  the  dusky  upper 
hall,  and  I  thought  what  all  of  us  have  at  different  times, 
I  expect,  what  a  strange,  different  creature  a  woman  is 
from  the  rest  of  us. 

I  went  back  thinking  about  it;  puzzling  and  worrying 
over  the  way  everything  was  going,  the  way  we  were  tied 
and  snarled  up  in  that  invisible  net  that  binds  up  men  and 
women's  lives.  How  I  cursed  that  house  in  my  heart  — 
that  black  old  house,  and  what  there  was  in  it ;  that  "  Ha- 
gar's  Hoard  "  I  had  seen  that  afternoon !  And  that  old 
miserliness,  and  fear  of  my  Uncle  for  his  "  Property,"  his 
money.  Yes,  and  even  the  loyalty,  and  nervous  dread  of 
his  daughter.  All  the  invisible  bonds  that  held  us  there, 
strong  as  the  cable  of  a  ship,  while  outside,  hour  after 
hour,  death  rose  up  under  our  windows. 

I  found  myself  again  by  the  window,  as  I  worried  back 
and  forth  over  all  this  trouble.  We  were  there,  all  the 
time,  at  those  north  windows  —  drawn  in  spite  of  our 
selves  by  the  expectation  of  what  we  might  see  —  espe 
cially  at  night  —  when  the  Fever  fires  were  lighted  on  the 
empty  street,  and  there  seemed  everywhere  that  feeling  of 
fear  and  waiting. 

I  saw  the  vacant  street,  the  yellow  dots  of  street  lights, 
and  up  the  roadway,  in  front  of  the  city,  now,  the  lights 
where  the  nigger  militia  had  their  camp  on  the  bluffs. 
My  eye  fell  now  and  then  on  the  Ventress's  house 
next  to  us  —  black  and  high  and  ugly,  just  beyond  our 
yard. 

I  looked  and  looked,  and  turned  away  to  watch  the  ris 
ing  thunder  clouds  in  the  pale  west,  when  my  eye  went  sud 
denly  back  to  it,  that  house  of  the  Ventress's. 

In  the  sitting  room,  through  the  central  window  that 
faced  toward  us,  there  shone  a  little  glow  of  light.  Some 
body  had  struck  a  match  there.  I  could  see  nothing  else 


158  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

there  —  no  one,  not  a  soul.  The  curtains  were  three 
quarters  down. 

The  little  light  grew  slowly  —  faint  and  bluish,  like 
those  old  matches  did,  and  then  rose  into  a  yellow  glow, 
and  finally  died,  shaken  out. 

I  stood  and  watched  and  watched,  after  that,  but  there 
was  nothing  more  —  nothing  at  all  that  I  could  see.  But 
I  was  sure  now.  There  was  some  one  there.  And  I  had 
thought  the  house  was  empty.  Of  course,  I  said  to  my 
self,  it  might  have  been  one  of  the  servants ;  one  of  their 
own  negroes  come  back  there.  And  yet,  I  didn't  think  so, 
exactly. 

I  stood  and  watched,  bound  on  seeing  what  did  not  come 
again,  when  I  heard  behind  me  the  click  of  an  opening 
door.  My  Uncle  came  out  from  the  Study  across  the  hall. 
And  he  came  out,  I  saw,  as  he  turned  around,  empty 
handed.  The  old  hand  satchel  that  he  had  taken  with 
him,  that  stood  upon  his  table,  while  he  was  counting  out 
and  examining  his  greenbacks,  he  hadn't  brought  out  with 
him. 

"  He  must  have  left  it  all  in  there,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"  unguarded,  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  house." 

There  was  that  safe  in  there,  of  course.  But  he  had  no 
key  to  it.  I  knew  that.  It  wasn't  the  slightest  use  to 
him. 

And  I  couldn't  understand  at  all.  He  must  certainly 
be  crazy. 

My  Uncle  Hagar  came  over  to  where  I  stood.  And 
when  he  came,  I  caught  his  eye.  It  was  as  far  as  you 
could  think  from  the  eye  of  a  crazy  man  —  or  from  any 
old  man's  dull  eye.  There  was  a  curious  old  black  twinkle 
in  it.  If  I  had  seen  it  in  any  man's  eye,  I  would  have  said 
for  certain,  he  was  laughing.  And  then,  there  certainly 
was,  it  seemed  to  me,  a  kind  of  crooked  smile  upon  his  lips. 


THE  LIGHTED  MATCH  159 

He  looked  at  me  a  second,  and  that  smile  went  away. 

"  Where's  Vance,"  he  said. 

"  Gone  upstairs,"  I  answered. 

Then  he  stepped  up  alongside  of  me  at  the  big  high 
window. 

"  A  cloudy  night,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  looking  out. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  Looks  like  we  might  have  a  thunder  shower,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  does,"  I  said.  Those  great  old  navy  blue 
clouds  had  shut  off  the  last  lingering  white  patches  of 
sunset. 

"  I  hope  we  do,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel ;  "  they're  good ! 
They  wash  this  old  Fever  poison  out  of  the  air." 

That  was  one  of  the  ideas  they  had  about  the  Fever 
then. 

"  It  will  make  it  healthier,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

"  And  maybe  cooler,"  I  said. 

It  was  hot  still ;  still  close  and  disagreeable  in  the  house ; 
shut  up  that  way  at  night.  But  you  didn't  mind  it  some 
how,  after  a  while.  Somehow,  after  all  that  talk  about 
the  poison  in  the  night  air,  I  had  got  by  that  time  so  I 
was  glad,  and  more  than  glad,  to  keep  my  windows  all 
shut  down  as  tight  as  any  one.  I  expect,  in  a  smaller 
house,  it  might  have  been  a  whole  lot  harder.  That  was 
one  thing,  like  Vance  had  always  said,  about  that  great 
house  of  ours.  You  could  stand  it  being  shut  up  there. 

We  stood  there  quite  a  few  minutes,  the  two  of  us, 
looking  out.  It  was  a  sad  looking  old  blue  night,  now, 
very  dark  —  and  silent  —  silent  as  the  grave. 

It  seemed  to  me  my  Uncle  loitered  a  little  more  than 
usual.  And  on  his  old  blue  lips  I  thought  that  I  could  see 
again  that  faint,  curious  smile. 

"What  do  you  see?"  he  said  to  me  after  a  while. 
"What  were  you  looking  at?" 


160  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

I  was  watching  the  Ventress's  house,  I  expect,  without 
realizing  it. 

I  made  up  my  mind,  right  away  then,  I'd  let  him  have  it. 

"  You've  had  a  great  lot  to  say  about  thieves  lately," 
I  said ;  "  thieves  in  houses.  Now  I'll  tell  you  why  I'm 
looking  and  watching  here.  I'll  tell  you.  Maybe  I've 
just  seen  one.  I  just  saw  somebody,  anyhow,  light  a 
match  in  there  at  the  Ventress's." 

"  Just  tell  me  that  again,"  said  my  Uncle,  leaning  over ; 
and  that  faint  smile  got  a  little  plainer. 

So  I  told  him  again,  louder.  "  Do  you  think  we  ought 
to  go  over  there?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  No,  sir,"  he  said  sharply.  "  No,  not  in  that  damned 
poison  night  air,  with  the  Fever  right  down  there,  not  for 
any  man.  Not  for  a  thousand  Ventresses." 

For  he  never  got  on  very  well  with  that  family,  anyway. 

"  It  might  be  only  one  of  their  own  niggers,  after  all," 
I  said. 

My  Uncle  kept  looking  at  me  without  speaking. 

"  We  might  tell  the  police,  I  expect,  to-morrow,  any 
way,"  I  said. 

"  Police !  Hell !  "  said  my  Uncle.  "  Tell  the  police !  " 
And  he  laughed.  "  What  police  ?  There  ain't  any ! 
Why  should  we  tell  them  if  there  was  ?  " 

"  To  save  the  house,"  I  said,  "  if  somebody  is  in  there 
robbing  it." 

"  Save  it  nothing !  If  anybody's  been  robbing  that 
house,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  they'd  had  it  robbed  and  done 
with  long  ago." 

It  made  me  mad,  the  way  he  had  that  night  —  all  his 
actions,  and  the  way  he  acted  about  that  house  especially. 
I  can't  describe  it.  His  voice  was  harsh,  and  kind  of  ugly 
and  insolent.  Yes,  and  younger  —  that  was  just  it  — 
younger. 


THE  LIGHTED  MATCH  161 

And  he  seemed  to  be  jeering  and  flouting  at  me  all  the 
time. 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  for  he  got  on  the  raw  with  me  more 
and  more.  "  Suit  yourself.  But  now  I've  got  something 
else  to  tell  you." 

"Oh-ho!  What  else?"  said  my  Uncle.  "Out  with 
it!" 

He  made  me  madder  still,  the  way  he  talked.  But  I 
liked  less  than  anything  else  that  smile  he  had  on  his 
face  —  quite  plain  now  when  he  looked  at  me. 

"  If  I  had  money,"  I  said,  looking  him  in  the  eye  — "  a 
lot  of  money  around  the  house,  I  don't  think  I'd  be  so  open 
about  it." 

"  If  you  had  money,"  said  my  Uncle,  and  his  eyes  twin 
kled  into  mine,  before  he  lowered  them  again  — "  ah,  ha?  " 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  "  I'll  tell  it  all  to  you  like  it  was. 
I  just  saw  you,  and  that  old  money  of  yours,  spread  out 
before  you  there  this  afternoon  —  right  there  in  plain 
sight. 

"  I  don't  expect  you  thought  when  you  did  it,"  I  said, 
"  but  if  there  are  any  thieves  or  bad  niggers,  or  half- 
niggers,  around  this  place,  or  the  next  one,"  I  said,  look 
ing  at  him,  "  they  can't  help  seeing  it  as  well  as  I  did. 

"  I'm  telling  you  this  so  you'll  be  prepared  —  so  you'll 
know,"  I  said,  and  stopped  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

And  all  at  once  I  turned  suddenly  round,  for  my  Uncle 
burst  out  laughing —  stood  there,  just  laughing  fit  to  kill 
himself.  It  wasn't  the  pleasantest  laugh  I  ever  heard,  but 
it  was  a  laugh  just  the  same. 

"  What's  the  joke?  "  I  said,  getting  madder  yet. 

"Well,  I'll  just  show  you,"  said  my  Uncle,  moving  to 
ward  his  study. 

"No,  I  won't!  No,  I  believe  I  won't  to-night.  Ill 
wait  till  to-morrow  morning,"  he  said,  stopping  himself. 


162  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  But  meantime,"  he  said,  touching  me  on  the  arm, 
"  meantime  you  keep  your  eye  peeled ;  keep  your  eye 
peeled  at  that  house  next  door ! " 

I  couldn't  make  out,  quite,  whether  he  was  laughing  or 
in  earnest  when  he  said  that,  when  he  gave  me  those  old 
directions  of  his  to  be  watching  out. 

I  just  stood  there,  gaping,  as  he  went  upstairs. 

My  mouth  opened  like  a  fool.  But  I  was  boiling  over 
inside. 

He  went  poking  along  out,  not  noticing  me.  But  when 
he  got  to  the  door  he  stopped  and  turned  around  and 
looked  at  me.  And  then  again  he  broke  into  that  ugly 
laugh  once  more. 

"  Judas,"  he  said,  looking  me  over,  "  you  certainly  did 
look  sad." 

And  then  he  laughed  again. 

"  Sad,"  I  said  after  him,  getting  madder. 

"  You  ought  to  seen  yourself." 

"  Seen  myself !  "  I  said,  madder  and  madder. 

"  Just  standing,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  "  just  standing 
there  with  that  look  on  your  face,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 
"  Sadder'n  a  sick  mule  in  a  cemetery !  " 

And  he  gave  that  laugh  again  while  I  worked  hard  to 
hold  on  to  myself.  For  just  for  that  minute  it  seemed  to 
me  the  man  must  certainly  be  crazy.  But  then,  when  I 
thought  it  over,  I  wasn't  sure  —  not  about  that  laugh, 
anyway.  It  was  not  a  crazy  laugh,  no,  not  in  the  least. 

It  was  just  mean  and  disagreeable.  The  meanest  laugh 
that  I  ever  heard. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    BAIT 

I  KNOCKED  at  the  high  brown  door  of  his  Study 
very  softly.  It  was  about  half-past  nine.  My 
Uncle  had  said  to  come  when  Vance  went  upstairs 
after  breakfast. 

"  Come  on  in,"  said  my  Uncle. 

It  was  kind  of  darkish  in  there.  The  sun  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house,  and  one  window  shade  was  down. 

"  Sit  down,  over  there,"  paid  my  Uncle.  And  I  went 
where  he  pointed,  over  to  the  far  corner  of  the  room, 
back  from  the  window. 

I  could  see  better  now;  the  high  room,  with  the  big 
black  shiny  chairs  carved  with  dragons  on  their  backs, 
and  the  big  table  in  the  center.  I  sat  down,  and  felt  the 
body  of  one  of  those  old  twisting  dragons  at  my  back. 
Then  I  sat  up  again  and  stared.  For  there,  on  the  center 
table,  was  "  Hagar's  Hoard,"  fixed  just  like  it  was  the 
day  before. 

There  was  the  red-backed  book-keeper's  book,  and  the 
old  hand-satchel  and  all  the  green-backs  in  their  little 
banded  piles,  and  over  it  my  Uncle  Athiel  sat  in  his  high 
chair  —  only  not  drowsing  now  —  his  eyes  as  sharp  as 
jet  buttons,  and  on  his  blue  lips  that  same  crooked,  dis 
agreeable  smile.  He  was  cutting  himself  off  the  sliver  of 
tobacco  he  chewed.  He  poked  it  into  his  mouth  on  the 

big  blade  of  his  jack-knife. 

163 


164  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Well,"  he  said,  smart  and  deep,  "  how  do  you  like  my 
lay  out?  " 

"  Like  it,"  I  said,  and  that  was  all.  My  voice  was 
hoarse  and  dry.  I  was  staring  like  a  fool.  But  he  sat 
there,  watching  with  that  cold  grin  on  his  face,  until  I 
finally  found  voice  enough  to  ask  him,  "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Can't  you  see?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  I  told  him,  my  voice  coming  back  to  me. 

"  Here,  catch ! "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

And,  reaching  over  on  the  table,  he  took  and  tossed 
over  to  me  one  of  those  fat  packages  of  green-backs. 

And  in  some  way,  I  managed  to  catch  it. 

"  Take  a  look !  "  he  said  to  me.     And  I  did ! 

It  was  just  nothing  but  those  old  Confederate  bills  — 
a  parcel  of  that  old  ghost  money  of  the  Confederacy  that 
they  gave  the  children  to  play  with. 

I  looked  up  at  him,  finally,  and  saw  that  smile  again. 
And  for  a  minute  I  sat  there,  with  an  awful  case  of  the 
"  dry  grins  "  on  my  own  face,  thinking  what  a  fool  I  had 
been  made  of. 

"But  then,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "this  can't  be  all 
done  just  for  a  sell  on  me  —  there  must  be  something 
else." 

So  then,  "  What  was  it  for?  "  I  said  to  him. 

"  Count  it,"  said  my  Uncle,  and  sat  there,  chewing  a 
bit  of  tobacco  and  watching  me. 

"  Five  thousand,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  questioned,  when  I  got 
through. 

That's  what  it  was  —  all  in  big  bills. 

"  And  twenty  piles  in  all,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  That 
makes  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  all  together,  don't 
it?" 

*'  Yes,"  I  said,  looking  up  under  my  eyebrows. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  it 


THE  BAIT  165 

must  be  that  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  the  niggers 
talk  about.  It  must  be  that  old  man  Hagar's  Hoard." 

"  Must  it !  "  I  said.  I  was  getting  right  tired  of  this 
fooling.  And  just  then  the  smile  went  out  in  my  Uncle's 
face,  quick  as  a  lamp  in  the  wind. 

"  It  must  be  —  but  it  ain't,"  he  said,  with  an  oath. 
"  No.  It's  just  one  of  his  gilt-edged  investments." 

But  in  a  minute  or  two  afterwards  his  smile  came  right 
back  to  him. 

"  How  do  you  like  'em?  How  do  they  strike  -you,  now 
you  see  'em?  "  he  asked. 

"What  is  this?"  I  said.  "What  is  this,  anyhow? 
Just  a  sell  on  me?  " 

"No,"  he  said;  "not  by  a  jugful!"  And  he  turned 
and  spit  through  his  teeth  into  that  fine  expensive  fire 
place,  with  its  marble  trimmings,  back  of  him.  And  that 
old  smile  on  his  face  was  changed  again.  The  laugh  was 
all  gone  out  of  it;  it  was  plain  straight  and  cruel. 

"  You  thought  I  was  crazy,  didn't  you?  "  he  said  to 
me.  "  Well  I  ain't;  you'll  find  I  ain't. 

"  But  you  certainly  looked  funny,"  he  said  to  me, 
"  goin'  by  lookin'  up  under  your  eyelids." 

I  had  gone  about  as  far  as  I  was  going;  he  was  giving 
me  more  than  I  swallowed  from  any  man. 

"  Look  here,"  I  said,  "  if  you  think  you  can  sit  here  and 
tease  me  like  a  sick  dog,  you're  damned  mistaken." 

Our  eyes  met  then,  and  there  was  no  smiles  in  either 
one  of  them. 

"  Now  you  tell  me,"  I  said,  "  what  is  this  thing?  What 
is  this  stuff  here  on  the  table?  " 

He  looked  at  me  a  minute,  before  answering. 

"  It's  bait,"  he  said  —  and  when  he  said  it,  I  saw  that 
half  smile  come  sneaking  back  in  spite  of  him,  at  the  corner 
of  his  mouth. 


166  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"That'll  do,"  I  said,  getting  up.  "That'll  do,"  I 
said,  and  started  for  the  door. 

But  my  Uncle  was  up  ahead  of  me. 

"  Sit  down,  you  fool,"  he  said.  "  Stand  back  away 
from  that  window ;  he'll  see  you !  " 

There  was  nothing  crazy,  nor  foolish,  nor  joking,  about 
that  voice.  It  was  clear  and  pert,  and  strong  as  a  young 
man's. 

"  He'll  see  me ! "  I  said,  falling  back  into  my  chair. 
"Who?" 

"  That  half  nigger  in  the  next  house,"  said  my  Uncle 

"  You  mean  to  say,"  I  started. 

"  You  bet,  I  mean  exactly  what  I  said,"  my  Uncle 
Athiel  answered.  "  He's  likely  laying  there  on  his  belly 
right  now;  looking  out  underneath  the  window  shade  into 
here  now." 

"  You  say  he's  in  that  house  now !  "  I  said. 

He  kept  his  little  black  eyes  on  me. 

"  Yes ;  and  he's  been  there  since  yesterday  morning." 

"  And  I  saw  him  there  last  night  —  saw  him  lighting 
that  match,"  I  said. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  this  ?  "  I  said,  pointing  at  the  table. 

"That's  just  what  I  said  it  was  —  just  exactly." 

"Bait?"  I  asked. 

"  Bait  for  niggers,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 

He  looked  at  me,  and  I  at  him.  And  there  was  real, 
genuine  pleasure  and  amusement  in  his  eyes.  I  don't 
know  when  I  had  seen  it  there  before.  He  was  a  different 
person  somehow ;  a  new  man  I'd  never  seen  before,  pleased 
and  smiling  over  something  he  was  going  to  enjoy.  And 
I  moved  uneasily,  more  uncomfortable  than  those  uncom 
fortable  chairs  made  me  —  when  I  sat  looking  at  him. 
For  I  didn't  care  for  him,  this  new  man  who  watched 


THE  BAIT  167 

me  over  the  table  —  nor  for  that  smile  he  wore  upon  his 
face. 

"  Lemme  tell  you  about  it,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  and 
he  went  along  and  told  me  how  he  had  been  watching  that 
half-nigger  from  the  tower  first.  How  he  went  up  and 
saw  him  that  first  day,  when  I  came  back  from  the  doc 
tor's. 

"  You  can  see  half  the  town  from  there,"  he  said. 

"  But  now  you've  got  him  here,"  I  asked,  "  what  next? 
How  are  you  going  to  catch  him?  The  police?  " 

"  Police ! "  said  my  Uncle,  sneering.  "  No  police ! 
something  better  than  that !  " 

"  What?  " 

"  Ourselves,"  said  my  Uncle,  and  he  passed  to  me  a  kind 
of  look  of  understanding. 

"  You  know  what  you  said  to  me  the  other  day,"  said 
my  Uncle  Athiel. 

"  I  said  I'd  swim  Hell  for  you  if  you'd  get  Vance  out 
of  here,"  I  said,  remembering,  and  wanting  to  remind  him, 
too. 

"  I  liked  the  way  you  said  that,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel, 
and  looked  very  friendly  at  me. 

"  And  I'm  going  to  do  what  you  asked  me  to,"  he  went 
along;  "I  ain't  forgot;  I'm  going  to  get  her  out;  don't 
you  worry." 

«  When?  "  I  asked. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  and  then,"  he  said, 
"  then  I'm  going  to  show  you  something ;  I'm  going  to 
show  you  how  we  handled  those  damn  niggers  in  the  old 
days."  And  he  gave  me  the  look  of  a  man  who  was  going 
to  share  a  treat  with  you. 

"  I'll  show  you  something  you  never  saw,"  he  said  over 
again,  and  he  went  on  talking  about  the  grudge  he  owed 
the  niggers  generally. 


168  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  I've  had  'em  watching  and  goggling  around  this  house 
long  enough;  I've  had  'em  whispering  round  the  alleys; 
and  talking  that  torn  fool  talk  of  '  Hagar*s  Hundred 
Thousand  Dollars  '  for  years  enough !  What  they  need 
is  a  lesson.  You  can't  never  teach  'em  anything.  They 
ain't  human!  What  they've  got  to  have  is  a  practical 
lesson,  and,  by  Judas  H.  Iscariot  that's  what  they're  go 
ing  to  get!  That's  what  we're  going  to  show  them  with 
this  one  —  this  half-nigger  here !  " 

I  had  a  kind  of  start  when  he  said  this.  It  was  a  good 
lot  the  way  he  said  it. 

What  was  it,  anyhow,  I  said  to  myself,  that  he  was 
proposing  —  that  he  and  I  were  going  to  do  to  this  nig 
ger  thief?  He  hadn't  said  anything  but  hints  so  far. 

"  Well,  how  are  you  going  to  catch  him  ?  "  I  asked,  feel 
ing  around.  "  There,  in  that  house?  " 

"  No,  I  reckon  not,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  We  ain't  going 
out  in  that  poison  night  air,  not  for  any  nigger." 

"Well,  what?  "I  said. 

"  He's  coming  here  to  us,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 
"  We'll  sit  right  here  and  he'll  come  right  up ;  right  up 
step  by  step  till  he  takes  that  bait." 

"Will  he  take  it?  "said  I. 

"  Will  he  take  it?  Take  it!  "  said  my  Uncle.  "  Will 
a  garfish  grab  a  minnow?  " 

"Won't  he  suspect?"  I  said.  "Won't  he  get  sus 
picious?  " 

"  Did  you  ?  "  said  my  Uncle,  laughing  at  me. 

"  No,"  I  said,  hanging  my  head  a  little. 

"  Well  he  won't,  then.  A  nigger  won't,"  said  my  Uncle. 
"  A  nigger !  I  know  'em  —  I  know  'em,  through  and 
through;  they  ain't  half  so  human  as  a  good  dog! 

"  Don't  you  fret,"  he  went  along,  "  we'll  get  him ;  he'll 
come  along  —  right  up  to  the  window  here ;  not  long  now 


THE  BAIT  169 

—  to-morrow  night,  maybe.     He'll   come   right  up  here 
and  then  — " 

"  And  then  — "  I  said,  after  him,  "  what?  " 

His  blue  lips  looked  pleased;  his  face  was  young,  just 
young  with  expectation;  and  his  little  black  eyes  just 
shone.  It  struck  me  all  of  a  sudden:  How  many  times 
had  those  little  black  eyes,  of  those  round-headed  men 
from  the  hills,  looked  down  their  gun-barrels  at  the  men 
they  were  hunting,  with  just  that  kind  of  sparkle  in 
them;  just  that  enjoyment  of  killing. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  I'll  show  you  something  that  you 
never  saw  before." 

"  You'll  kill  him,  you  mean !  "  I  exclaimed,  sitting  up. 

"  Kill  him!  "  said  my  Uncle,  acting  just  disgusted  with 
me.  «  Who  said  I'd  kill  him?  " 

But  the  way  he  said  it,  I  wasn't  sure  of  anything,  only 
that  he  was  disgusted  with  my  talking. 

His  smile  came  back  though,  after  a  while.  He  was 
too  much  taken  up  by  his  plans. 

"No,  I  won't  kiU  him,  I  expect,"  he  said.  "You'll 
see;  though  I've  got  a  perfect  right  if  I  want  to;  you 
heard  that;  I've  got  a  perfect  right  to  shoot  anybody  on 
my  premises  after  dark.  The  Marshal  said  so  in  his 
Proclamation.  And  if  I  did  it  would  be  a  good  sight 
better'n  that  nigger  deserves,  and  the  world  would  be  a 
good  sight  better  off." 

He  went  on  talking  then  —  more  than  I  ever  heard  him 
talk  before.  And  as  he  talked  I  watched  him  and  I 
thought  I  understood;  I  was  listening  to  Athiel  Hagar, 
who  lived  thirty  years  ago  —  to  young  Athiel  Hagar, 
who  jammed  his  way  along  in  that  old  pioneer  time  in  the 
Mississippi  country.  And  if  there  was  a  rougher  and 
cruder  place  on  God's  footstool  than  that  was,  it  isn't 
very  well  known  by  anybody  yet. 


170  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

He  talked  especially  about  the  niggers,  about  the  way 
they  had  changed;  and  about  the  way  they  used  to  keep 
them  down  around  War  times,  and  just  after.  He  didn't 
know,  so  he  said,  just  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  this 
one  when  he  got  him.  But  it  was  going  to  be  a  real  les 
son,  the  kind  that  he'd  carry  around  with  him  for  a  while ; 
the  kind  that  would  keep  the  whole  kit  and  boodle  of 
them  off  folk's  property  after  that  when  they  looked 
at  it. 

And  so  he  went  along  for  a  while,  telling  stories  of 
what  they  used  to  do  to  the  niggers,  when  they  got  too 
brash  and  come-uppy  in  the  old  days. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  this  nigger,"  he  said,  "  and 
you're  going  to  see  me  do  it;  and  you'll  just  laugh 
yourself  sick  to  see  how  easy  I  get  the  damned  black 
fool." 

He  pulled  out  his  old  red  bandana  and  wiped  his  head 
and  lips ;  and  sat  for  a  while  thinking  with  his  head  down, 
and  the  little  holes  working  in  his  cheeks  as  he  chewed. 
He  sat  there,  a  coarse  little  common  figure,  in  that  high 
expensive  chair,  with  the  shiny  black  dragons  on  it  twist 
ing  and  curling  over  him.  And  by  and  by  he  got  to 
talking  of  the  tricks  they  used  to  do  with  thieving  niggers 
in  those  old  days  —  the  traps  they  used  to  lay  for  them ; 
and  the  way  they  handled  them  generally,  those  days  he 
was  out  in  Arkansas  and  Texas.  And  his  face  changed 
and  lighted  up,  and  he  went  back,  with  the  pleasure  any 
man  does,  going  back  over  the  enjoyments  and  amuse 
ments  of  younger  days. 

He  told  me  the  story  about  blowing  up  the  nigger  — 
that  slick  Guinea  nigger  —  with  the  train  of  powder,  set 
up  to  a  lot  loose  in  a  can.  It  didn't  kill  him,  of  course, 
as  he  said,  but  it  must  have  marked  him  up  something 
frightful.  And  all  for  an  old  harness. 


THE  BAIT  171 

He  laughed  when  he  told  it.  And  I  expect  I  laughed 
too ;  I  had  to. 

Then  he  told  about  heading  up  another  nigger  for 
something  or  other  he'd  done,  something  about  some  cot 
ton,  and  a  mule  —  heading  him  up  in  this  old  turpentine 
barrel  with  just  his  head  sticking  out.  And  taking  him 
up  on  a  little  hill,  up  over  a  little  creek  and  setting  it 
afire,  and  then  starting  him  rolling  down  the  hill.  He 
had  to  roll  and  save  himself  in  the  water. 

"  Roll,  you  damn  black  dog !  Roll !  "  said  my  Uncle 
Hagar,  jumping  up  from  his  chair  and  back  again,  and 
calling  out  just  like  he  must  have  called  out  to  that  nig 
ger.  And  then  he  slapped  on  his  thin  old  knees,  and 
laughed  till  he  wiped  his  eyes,  with  his  old  red  handker 
chief,  and  got  weak  laughing. 

"  Didn't  it  kill  him?  "  I  said,  catching  my  breath. 

"  Kill  him?  No !  "  said  my  Uncle  Hagar.  "  Hell,  you 
can't  kill  a  nigger." 

Then  he  stopped  short;  he  happened  to  think,  I  expect, 
that  we  were  staying  too  long  in  there,  and  he  was  making 
too  much  noise,  and  Vance  might  hear  it,  he  said,  before 
he  sent  her  away. 

"  Now,  get  along  out  of  here,"  he  said,  "  we've  been 
here  long  enough.  But  you  come  back  here  about  four 
o'clock  this  evening,  when  she's  resting.  And  I'll  show 
him  to  you;  I'll  let  you  see  him." 

And  when  I  went  out  the  door  he  was  smiling  that  new 
smile  of  his,  sitting  there  over  his  false  green-backs.  It 
struck  me  then,  just  as  I  was  going  out,  what  that  smile 
was  like. 

It  reminded  me  of  those  boys  you  see  sometimes  in  the 

countrv  —  those  little  boys  that  sit  and  poke  the  eves 

"  .  * 

out  of  frogs  with  a  sharp  stick,  and  sit  and  laugh  and 

laugh. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    TEMPTEE    OF    THE    DOGS 

THE  middle  of  that  day  dragged  out  as  endless  as 
they  all  did  —  only  with  this  difference.  The 
Fever  was  no  longer  something  hidden  that  folks 
were  running  away  from,  over  there  out  of  sight  in  town. 
It  was  right  here  where  we  could  see  and  hear  and  almost 
touch  it,  and  I  knew  for  certain  that  if  Vance  was  going  to 
get  away,  it  had  got  to  be  soon  —  in  that  next  twenty- 
four  hours  anyhow,  it  seemed  to  me. 

I  saw  Vance  just  at  dinner-time.  She  went  upstairs 
again  soon  afterwards  —  where  she  could  be  cooler  and 
rest  through  the  afternoon  in  her  own  bedrom.  She  was 
resting  more  than  ever.  I  saw  her  very  little  in  the  day 
time.  All  the  morning  she  was  caring  for  that  great  up 
stairs  of  the  house;  and  all  the  afternoons  she  spent  in 
resting.  And  I  knew  she  was  growing  tireder  and  tireder. 

I  sat  a  good  part  of  my  afternoon,  in  my  own  room, 
making  another  feeble  try  at  reading  at  my  law  —  and 
really  waiting  and  worrying,  and  looking  out  of  the  win 
dow. 

I  saw  the  Dead  Wagons  as  I  sat  there,  one  coming  and 
one  going.  There  were  two  of  them  now  that  went  by 
our  place,  and  more,  a  good  many  more,  in  other  parts 
of  the  town,  I  suppose.  They  passed  by  us  now  regularly, 
like  busses  to  a  station  —  always  loaded.  One  was  go 
ing  out  while  I  sat  there,  a  half  dozen  coffins  piled  up 
like  trunks  —  and  the  golden  flies  trailed  out  behind  it, 
and  the  old  lazy  mules  and  the  nigger  drowsing  on  the 

172 


THE  TEMPTER  OF  THE  DOGS  173 

seat.  And  the  other  wagon  was  coming  back  to  town 
again,  with  the  mules  and  the  harness,  and  the  niggers' 
clothes  all  covered  up  with  that  old  clay  dust  of  the  coun 
try  roads,  fine  and  dry  as  bolted  corn-meal. 

There  was  no  more  doubt  about  it  now.  The  Fever 
had  gone  loose  from  them,  and  was  spreading  out  east 
and  north  and  south  —  fast  as  a  fire  that  the  gunners 
have  started  in  the  woods  in  the  fall.  They  were  having 
lots  of  trouble  already  getting  coffins  enough  for  the  dead ; 
the  niggers  were  fighting  against  digging  the  graves ;  and 
the  little  crooked  man  who  had  the  contract  for  burying 
folks  from  the  town  had  given  up  in  despair,  and  got 
drunk;  and  for  a  day  or  two  they  couldn't  get  the  dead 
out  from  among  the  sick  and  living. 

And  so  I  knew  that  it  was  a  matter  of  hours  —  just 
hours  —  if  any  of  us  was  going  to  get  to  go,  as  I  sat 
there  that  long  afternoon,  and  waited  for  four  o'clock  to 
come  when  my  Uncle  Hagar  was  to  take  me  up  with  him 
into  the  Tower  and  show  me  that  half-nigger.  And  all 
the  time,  I  made  and  remade  imaginary  speeches  that  I 
was  going  to  make  to  him  to  keep  him  to  his  promise  of 
getting  Vance  away  out  of  there  —  if  he  didn't  bring  it 
up  again  himself. 

Five  minutes  to  four  came,  and  I  heard  him  moving  in 
his  study  underneath  me;  and  before  four  o'clock  he  was 
climbing  up  the  stairs  to  my  room.  I  met  him  half  way 
on  the  stairs. 

"  I'll  go  first,"  he  said.  "  You  crawl  up  afterwards. 
I  believe  she's  sleeping,  but  you  can't  tell." 

So  five  minutes  afterwards  I  crept  up  after  him  and 
stood  there  beside  him  in  that  old  roasting  tower. 

"  Here's  where  you  get  a  good  look  at  things,"  said 
my  Uncle  Athiel,  wiping  his  forehead.  "  Here's  where 
you  can  see  what's  going  on  and  nobody  the  wiser." 


174  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

You  could,  too.  You  looked  over  the  top  of  every 
thing.  Over  east  and  north,  you  saw  the  streets  of  the 
city,  empty  and  white  in  the  white  sunshine,  with  one  or 
two  little  doctors'  buggies  standing  hitched  on  the  shady 
side,  like  the  little  animals  before  those  little  old  Noah's 
Arks  the  children  have.  And  in  the  middle  of  the  town, 
on  a  corner,  I  could  see  one  of  the  places  they  piled  up 
their  extra  coffins  on  the  sidewalks,  high  piles  now,  bright 
and  new  in  the  sunshine.  And  there  was  nobody,  hardly, 
moving  anywhere.  And  over  to  the  west  the  old  river  was 
shining,  white  and  flashy,  in  the  low  hot  afternoon  sun 
shine.  And  right  below  you  looked  straight  down  over 
the  fences  into  the  neighbors'  yards. 

"  Right  over  there,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  pointing 
me  to  the  Ventress's  back  yard.  "  Keep  your  eye  right 
there,  and  you'll  see  him." 

We  stood  there  and  looked  —  it  seemed  like  an  hour  to 
me  —  out  of  one  of  those  little  round  bulls-eye  of  windows. 
There  was  a  little  northwest  wind  blowing  in,  that  played 
like  cool  water  on  your  face,  but  your  back  was  running 
sweat,  and  your  nostrils  were  just  choked  up  with  the 
dry  heat  of  the  place. 

"  You  look  —  you  keep  looking,"  said  my  Uncle. 
"  Your  eyes  are  better  than  mine,"  and  stepped  back  and 
sat  down  on  an  old  black  haircloth  sofa  there  was  up 
there. 

But  there  was  nothing  there  that  I  could  see. 

"  He'll  come,"  said  my  Uncle.     "  Keep  looking !  " 

And  then,  finally,  all  at  once,  I  saw  our  dogs  and  the 
way  they  were  acting.  There  was  a  little  shed  over  there 
in  the  Ventress's  yard,  between  us  and  them.  I  saw  Belle, 
the  little  black  and  tan,  first,  going  up  to  it  —  slow  and 
cautious,  and  then  jumping  back  again. 

"  That's  him,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  getting  up  and 


THE  TEMPTER  OF  THE  DOGS  175 

looking.  "  He's  in  back  there  getting  acquainted  with 
the  dogs.  He  was  last  night." 

The  little  dog  would  step  up  close  to  the  shed  and  jerk 
back  again  —  from  something  out  of  sight  behind  there. 
And  old  Gen.  Sherman,  older  and  feebler  and  more  ram 
shackle  than  ever,  stood  out  further  back  —  and  looked 
with  his  head  down.  But  Belle,  the  black  and  tan,  lively 
and  young  and  full  of  that  woman's  curiosity  of  hers, 
kept  edging  in  and  edging  in  —  and  then  jumping  back 
again !  But  she  never  got  quite  close  enough  to  be  caught. 

Till  by  and  by,  the  figure  in  there  that  we  couldn't  see, 
came  out  following  her,  and  I  saw  that  half-nigger  for 
the  first  time. 

He  came  inching1  out,  reaching  out  his  hand,  squatting 
on  his  heels  the  way  nobody  but  a  nigger  can,  teasing  and 
coaxing  for  the  little  dog  he  couldn't  quite  get  hold  of. 

"  That's  him,"  whispered  my  Uncle  Hagar,  from  in 
back  of  me.  "  Look  at  him !  Ain't  he  a  bad  nigger !  " 

He  certainly  was,  what  I  could  see  of  him  —  a  great 
huge  brute,  a  great  gorilla-shaped  nigger  with  arms  most 
as  long  as  his  legs. 

"  When  you  see  him  close  to,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  he's 
got  one  of  those  great  scars  that  those  levee  niggers  have, 
cut  from  his  eye  clear  down  beneath  his  chin." 

"  He's  pretty  bold,"  I  said.  "  How  does  he  dare  do 
it?  Right  out  there  in  plain  daylight!  " 

"  There's  nobody  in  those  houses,  now,"  my  Uncle  said 
— "  not  any  of  them,  and  he's  got  that  shed  in  between 
him  and  us." 

I  had  forgotten  that.  You  couldn't  see  him  from  any 
where  below  us  in  the  house. 

He  squatted  there  —  we  watching  him  —  reaching  and 
coaxing,  still  and  patient  as  an  old  fisherman  in  his  skiff 
on  a  bayou. 


176  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  He's  gettin'  to  'em  gradually,"  said  my  Uncle. 
"  He'll  get  'em,"  he  said,  watching  like  a  man  who  sees  a 
game. 

"  What's  he  planning  to  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Feed  'em  something,  I  expect,"  said  my  Uncle,  stiff 
and  watchful. 

"Kill 'em?  "I  said. 

"  Certainly,"  said  my  Uncle,  speaking  low  like  folks  do 
when  they're  watching.  "  What  would  he  do  ?  " 

"  And  we  ain't  going  to  try  and  stop  it?  " 

"  Stop  him !  "  said  my  Uncle,  astonished.  "  Stop  him ! 
Why?  That's  the  next  thing,  ain't  it?  He  can't  come 
near  the  house  with  those  dogs  around  —  or  that  black 
and  tan  anyhow  —  she's  too  noisy. 

"  A  good  little  watch  dog  too,"  he  said,  considering. 
"  That  old  fool,  that  Gen.  Sherman  mongrel,  is  no  use ; 
you  couldn't  squeeze  a  bark  out  of  him,  not  now." 

The  nigger  reached  and  reached,  and  snapped  his  fin 
gers,  but  he  couldn't  quite  get  that  little  dog.  And  all 
at  once,  he  got  up  finally  —  got  up  and  spanked  his  knees ; 
and  the  dog  stood  off  and  moved  away ;  and  he  slouched 
out  into  the  alley,  and  looked  around;  and  we  saw  him 
start  out  across  and  down  one  of  those  crooked  paths 
along  the  river  bank,  to  the  levee  out  in  the  front  of  the 
town. 

"  After  something  to  eat,"  my  Uncle  Athiel  said. 

"  He  won't  get  'em  to-night,  I  expect,"  he  went  on, 
again. 

"  But  he's  bitin',  he's  bitin' !  "  he  said  —  smiling,  and 
his  black  eyes  snapping  out  again.  "  It  won't  be  long 
now  before  he's  comin'  in  to  call  on  us." 

I  thought  he'd  go  down  then;  we  were  being  roasted 
there  alive.  But  he  looked  at  me  then  a  second  or  two, 
and  said  the  thing  I  was  waiting  to  hear. 


THE  TEMPTER  OF  THE  DOGS  177 

"  And  now  to-night,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  down,  and 
I'm  going  to  get  your  cousin  Vance  out  of  town. 

"  I  ain't  been  worried  yet ;  I  ain't  so  scared  of  that 
Fever,"  he  went  along,  "  as  the  rest  of  them  are.  I  know 
you  can  keep  out  of  it,  if  you  keep  away  from  that  night 
air.  So  I  ain't  been  afraid  of  that  for  myself  or  her 
either,  or  anybody. 

"  But  now,"  he  said,  touching  the  top  buttonhole  of 
my  coat,  "  she's  goin'.  This  ain't  any  time  to  have  women 
underfeet,"  he  said.  "  This  ain't  any  business  for 
women. 

"  But  you  and  I'll  stay  right  here,"  he  went  along, 
getting  up  close  to  me,  and  talking  in  my  face.  "  You 
and  I'll  stay  and  take  care  of  this  half-nigger.  We'll 
give  the  niggers  a  little  lesson  they'll  remember.  We'll 
show  'em  to  leave  folks'  property  alone." 

"  When  are  you  going  to  have  her  go?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  To-morrow ;  she's  going  to-morrow.  And  look 
here,"  he  said,  standing  off  and  eying  me.  "  You  want 
her  to  go,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  I  said. 

"  Then  you  keep  your  hands  off,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 
"  Whatever  you  see  me  do.  You  keep  your  mouth  shut, 
if  you  think  I  talk  to  her  too  rough.  You've  got  to  talk 
up  to  'em  sometimes  to  handle  'em  —  this  high  strung 
kind  like  her,  and  like  her  mother  was." 

And  I  told  him  I  would.  I  would  have  done  most  any 
thing  to  get  her  away  from  there. 

"  Now  we'll  go  down,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  I'll  go  first, 
and  you  follow,  when  the  coast  is  clear.  You  follow  — 
easy,  now  —  easy !  " 

He  went  down  then,  as  quiet  as  his  lame  leg  would  per 
mit  him. 

And  I  looked  out  the  window,  for  a  last  look.     There 


178  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

was  nothing  over  toward  the  Ventress's  any  more.  Even 
the  dogs  were  gone  now.  Then  I  turned  and  looked  down 
the  street,  out  of  the  eastern  window. 

And  I  saw  two  niggers  in  an  old  light  wagon,  bringing 
down  a  fresh  yellow  coffin  to  the  place  on  the  corner, 
where  the  Fever  was.  i 

I  saw  it,  but  then  I  had  to  come  right  down,  for  at  any 
time,  Vance  might  be  out  and  catch  me. 

I  got  down  all  right  and  into  my  room,  without  her 
seeing  me.  And  I  saw  again  from  there  the  two  men 
with  their  coffin.  They  stopped  and  went  upstairs  with 
it,  up  over  the  dingy,  empty  little  grocery  store  on  the 
corner. 

I  wasn't  the  only  one  watching  —  as  usual.  Out  in 
our  front  yard  —  the  furthest  corner  —  I  could  see  Ara 
bella,  standing  looking. 

Then  by  and  by,  after  a  little  while,  the  two  niggers 
came  out  with  the  coffins  again,  between  them,  hurrying 

—  and  drove  off  south  with  it,  toward  the  poor  folks' 
cemetery. 

And  after  that,  sometime  after  —  I  saw  Dr.  Great- 
house  coming  out  the  door.  And  he  whistled  once,  and 
old  Mungo  drove  in  from  around  the  corner,  where  he 
had  been  standing  in  the  shade,  I  expect ;  and  they  drove 
up  the  road,  home,  by  our  house. 

The  old  doctor  was  tired,  I  could  see  that,  from  where 
I  was.  He  was  unshaved,  and  he  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves 

—  careless  and  untidy.     He  looked  bad  to  me  —  hot  and 
tired  and  played  out  for  sleep. 

And  all  the  time,  in  our  front  yard,  Arabella  stood 
staring,  taking  it  all  in. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    FEVER    FIRE 

""^T  T"ASSUM,"  said  Arabella,  at  supper  time. 
V'  "  She's  daid.  The  next  to  the  littlest  one  — 
M  with  the  whites'  hair.  Daid  —  daid  and  buried 
by  this  time.  Yassum." 

She  stopped  where  she  was  with  a  plate  of  biscuit  in  her 
hands.  "  And  old  Mek  Haste  Mose  was  there,  yassum, 
bringing  in  his  coffin.  Just  going  round  like  he  does 
ev'ywhere  at  them  Fever  houses  —  going  round  and  say 
ing  to  'em: 

"  '  Mek  Haste !     Mek  Haste !     Mek  Haste ! '  " 

She  stood  there,  making  up  those  faces,  the  way  niggers 
do  when  they  get  talking  about  death  —  talking  and 
whispering  like  an  old  ghost  gibbering  in  a  graveyard. 
Her  eyes  rolled  and  her  hands  went,  and  her  head  stuck 
out  forward.  And  she  talked  low,  and  fast,  and  hoarse, 
showing  how  he  went  round. 

That  was  the  most  she  had  been  excited,  that  night. 
We  all  got  pretty  nervous  —  that  night  they  first  set  a 
Fever  fire  going  on  our  street. 

"  Yassum,"  said  Arabella,  getting  all  the  time  more 
worked  up,  the  way  they  are  when  they've  got  strange 
news  to  tell.  "  And  the  two  others  got  it  now,  and  the 
old  man.  And  all  the  chillun  and  the  old  man.  All  of 
'em  but  the  woman  —  she  ain't  got  it  yet. 

"  Down  there,  in  our  front  yard,"  she  said,  taking 

179 


180  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

breath,  "  you  kin  hear  'em.  You  kin  hear  'em  plain. 
The  sick  ones,  ev'y  now  and  then  going  '  Um-um-um,'  that 
old  Fever  sound  —  ev'y  so  often.  And  that  poor  woman 
aprayin'  all  the  time.  Just  sittin'  there  at  the  window 
aprayin'  for  God  to  spare  'em." 

"  Poor  woman,"  Vance  whispered. 

"  But  He  won't  spare  'em.  He  ain't  agoin'  spare  no 
body,  not  now,  not  any  more !  "  said  Arabella,  louder. 
"  It's  gettin'  too  late  now ;  it's  gettin'  too  late !  " 

"  That's  all,"  said  Vance.     "  Put  them  down  and  go." 

For  the  negress  stood  still  there,  with  the  plate  of  bis 
cuits  in  her  hands,  talking  hoarse,  and  rolling  the  whites 
of  her  eyes. 

She  went  along  then,  looking  back. 

"  When  you  goin'  ?  "  she  said,  half-way  out.  "  When 
you  goin'  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Vance. 

"  I  heard  that  woman  hollerin'  myself,"  said  my  Uncle, 
looking  up  from  his  eating.  "  Those  Dutchmen,  they 
take  things  mighty  hard  when  it  strikes  them.  They 
holler  easy.  They's  a  lot  of  'em  up  around  St.  Louis 
there  —  I  used  to  see  'em  up  there." 

"  These  folks  have  a  right  to  take  it  hard,"  said  Vance, 
quickly  — "  with  the  Fever  there !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  in  that  dull  voice  of  his, 
"  they  have.  You're  right.  I've  seen  whole  families  go 
that  way  when  the  Fever  once  gets  inside  the  door." 

And  he  went  on  eating,  and  we  didn't  any  of  us  talk 
much  more. 

I  thought  maybe  he  would  say  something  to  Vance  right 
then,  when  he  had  started  talking.  But  he  didn't,  and 
when  the  meal  was  done,  back  he  went  into  the  Study 
again  —  and  his  play-acting  —  with  his  false  money,  I 
expect.  And  Vance  and  I  were  in  the  sitting  room  alone 


THE  FEVER  FIRE  181 

when  they  started  up  that  first  Fever  fire,  right  there, 
under  our  windows,  on  our  own  street. 

We  both  got  up  and  stood  looking  at  it.  It  was  twi 
light  yet,  and  we  hadn't  lighted  the  gas,  and  it  shone 
bright  and  clear,  when  they  touched  it  off  at  first  —  all 
that  light  cotton  stuff,  and  the  straw  mattress,  and  the 
child's  clothing.  It  was  a  clear  bright  fire,  when  they 
first  started  it.  And  standing  back  a  little,  and  looking 
down  I  watched  it  over  Vance's  shoulder,  and  saw  its 
light,  like  I  had  seen  that  first  one  the  week  before  —  upon 
the  window-frames,  and  across  her  hair  and  cheek.  Only 
that  first  fire  had  been  so  faint  and  far  away  I  could 
scarcely  see  it.  And  now  this  fell,  as  plain  as  yellow 
paint,  upon  her  thin  cheek,  and  the  frame-work  of  the 
window-panes. 

The  fire  dulled  after  that.  There  was  something  white 
in  the  flame  at  first,  some  chemical  or  other  they  put  in. 
And  then,  after  that,  they  put  on  the  tar,  and  smothered 
it  down.  And  the  first  flame  changed  to  an  old  smudge 
of  greasy  smoke,  with  a  red  fire  at  its  heart.  I  shivered 
a  little,  and  started  talking.  But  just  then  Vance  turned 
away  from  looking,  and  spoke  to  me,  and  asked  me  a  ques 
tion  I  didn't  expect. 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  that  tower  to-day  ?  "  she 
asked,  looking  at  me  curiously. 

"  Nothing,"  I  said,  making  up  my  mind  in  a  second. 
"  I  wasn't  in  the  tower." 

"  With  Dad  ?  "  she  kept  right  on,  keeping  her  eyes  on 
me. 

"I  wasn't  there,  I  tell  you,"  I  said.  "  Why  — 
what  — " 

"  How  long  since  you  started  lying  to  me?  "  asked 
Vance.  And  after  a  while  she  said,  "  You  can't  do  it, 
Beavis ;  you  can't  lie  to  me.  You  just  don't  know  how." 


182  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

I  certainly  did  look  foolish,  I  expect.  But  I  kept  on 
lying.  I  didn't  raise  my  eyes,  but  I  kept  right  on.  And 
all  the  time  I  knew  she  never  took  her  eyes  away  from 
me.  I  got  red  and  ashamed,  but  I  held  right  to  what  I 
said.  And  then,  finally  both  of  us  stopped,  for  my  Uncle 
Athiel  came  out  of  his  study. 

He  came  out  and  stood  behind  us,  and  I  moved  out  back 
to  let  him  get  nearer  to  the  window. 

"  That's  wrong,"  he  said,  "  all  wrong.  They  scat 
ter  it,  I  believe.  They  scatter  the  Fever  poison  around  in 
that  smoke  more  than  they  kill  it. 

"  See  that !  See  that !  "  For  somebody  added  some 
thing  to  the  fire.  I  could  see  the  lights  start  up  on  their 
faces  and  the  window-frame. 

"  Look  yere !  "  he  said,  turning  quick  and  savage  to 
wards  Vance.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  get  out  of  here 
three  days  ago  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Vance. 

"  Well,  when  are  you  goin'  to  pay  attention  to 
me?" 

And  she  went  back  and  lighted  up  the  gas. 

He  left  the  window  then,  and  followed  her. 

"  I  wonder,  sometimes,"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  looking 
at  her  in  a  funny  disagreeable  way,  "  what  God  A'mighty 
made  'em  for." 

"Who?"  said  Vance. 

"  Women !  "  said  her  father.  And  he  started  off,  curs 
ing  and  swearing  at  the  uselessness  of  women.  Lord,  what 
didn't  he  say?  I've  forgotten  three-quarters  of  it. 
There  was  this  to  be  said  about  a  nigger  —  you  could 
drive  him  to  work  like  a  mule;  you  could  get  something 
out  of  him.  But  a  woman,  God  A'mighty,  a  woman  with 
notions  in  her  head.  "  Uppity-uppity ;  pee-wee-wee- 
wee ! "  He  stood  and  mocked  and  made  queer  crazy 


THE  FEVER  FIRE  183 

sounds  of  women  giggling  and  snickering.  What  did  God 
make  'em  for;  he  couldn't  see. 

"  He  must  have  had  something  special  against  me,"  said 
my  Uncle  Hagar,  with  an  oath,  "  from  what  He  sent  me ! 
First  your  mother,  and  then  you." 

Vance,  staring  at  him,  winced  and  stepped  away,  when 
he  spoke  her  mother's  name.  And  I  stepped  forward  and 
opened  up  my  mouth  —  and  then  closed  it.  For  I  caught 
his  eye,  and  remembered  what  he  said  to  me  about  keeping 
out  of  this  if  I  wanted  Vance  to  get  away. 

"  Two  high  strung  nervous  women,"  he  said.  "  Always 
under  foot. 

"  Always  doing  what  you  don't  want  'em  to." 

Vance  started  toward  him  first,  like  she  was  going  to 
answer  him.  Then  she  looked  at  him  and  stopped.  And 
when  he  kept  on  going,  she  shrank  back  —  got  back 
against  the  window  sill  —  and  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears. 
He  stepped  right  up  to  her,  and  pulled  them  down  again. 

"  What's  that  for?  "  he  said.  "  This  ain't  no  time  for 
that.  I  ain't  got  time  now  to  giggle  and  squirm  and 
talk  sweet-pretty  the  way  a  man  generally  has  to  talk 
to  women  folks.  We're  going  to  talk  now  like  ordinary 
humans.  What  do  you  think  you're  staying  here  for, 
anyhow  ?  " 

She  didn't  answer  right  away. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said,  "  there's  got  to  be  some  reason." 

But  she  didn't,  or  she  wouldn't  answer  him. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?     Do  you  want  to  kill  us  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  stay,"  said  Vance,  "  as  long  as  you 
do." 

"  Now  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  said  her  father. 
"  I  don't  expect  you'll  understand  it.  But  you've  got  to 
hear  it  —  for  it's  God's  truth,  and  you  can  like  it  or 
lump  it,  just  as  you  like.  If  you  stay  here  two  more 

" 


184  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

days  you've  got  about  three  chances  out  of  four  of  killing 
the  whole  lot  of  us." 

"  Why?  "  said  Vance,  her  big  eyes  watching  him. 

He  took  her  by  the  arm. 

"Why?"  he  said.  "Look  yere!"  And  he  held  her 
there  before  the  big  gilt  mirror  on  the  side  wall.  "  Look 
yere,  that's  why  !  " 

She  stood  looking  there,  into  that  big  dark  pool  of  a 
looking  glass  —  the  dim  light  of  the  gas-jet  in  the  chan 
delier  behind  her,  surprised,  scared  a  little,  I  expect,  and 
mad,  too.  Her  lips  parted,  her  great  coil  of  black  hair, 
and  her  deep  eyes  —  full  of  apprehension  and  wonder, 
staring  from  her  white  face.  She  had  that  look  she  often 
had,  when  she  got  a  little  bit  excited  —  intense  and  won 
dering,  and  a  little  scared  —  that  made  me  think  some 
times  of  a  young  prophetess  in  the  Old  Bible,  and  she 
certainly  looked  pale  and  delicate. 

"  Do  you  see  now  —  if  Fever  was  around  —  who'd  have 
it?  "  said  my  Uncle.  "  Tell  me  that !  Do  you  see?  " 

"  But  you  said,"  Vance  answered,  "  you  said  —  if  you 
kept  out  of  the  night  air  —  You  said  so !  And  I've  al 
ways  — " 

"  I  said,  '  generally,'  for  the  usual  run  of  folks.  I 
wasn't  talkin'  of  anvthin'  like  that,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
the  mirror.  "  Anythin'  just  achin'  and  ripe  and  certain 
to  get  it  —  if  it  came  within  gunshot.  You  can  see  that 
yourself.  You  ain't  a  fool." 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  Vance.  "  You  can't  scare  me  that 
way." 

"  And  if  you  get  it.  If  it  gets  inside  once,  inside  this 
house  — "  and  his  voice  grew  uglier  yet.  "  Why,  then  — 
we'll  all  take  our  turns.  You'll  have  the  satisfaction  of 
not  only  havin'  it  vourself  —  but  givin'  it  to  all  the  rest 
of  us."' 


THE  FEVER  FIRE  185 

"I  won't  go,"  said  Vance.  "  I  can't.  I  can  stay  and 
help." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  Uncle,  in  a  disagreeable,  sneering  voice, 
"  help  kill  us !  " 

"  Do  you  believe  that,  Beavis  ?  "  said  Vance,  turning 
round  to  me. 

"  I  certainly  do,"  I  told  her.  "  I  certainly  don't  want 
you  around,"  I  said,  for  I  was  getting  desperate.  And 
it  seemed  to  me  already  that  he  had  failed.  That  he 
wasn't  going  to  get  her  to  go  after  all. 

He  thought  so,  too,  I  expect  for  he  started  off  again  on 
the  foolishness  of  women,  worse  than  ever. 

Our  nerves  were  all  going,  I  expect,  under  the  strain. 
He  made  me  so  mad  I  couldn't  stand  it. 

"  That'll  do !  "  I  said,  "  she'll  go,  I  believe." 

"  But  I  won't  go,"  said  Vance.  "  You  know  I  won't. 
Why,  I  can't  — "  she  said,  and  looked  over  at  her  father. 
"  You  know.  I  couldn't  — " 

And  I  recognized  at  once  what  she  was  talking  about  — 
that  same  silly  idea  —  that  presentiment  she  had  that  her 
father,  and  nobody  else,  was  going  to  die  —  to  be  sick  and 
die  out  of  that  house  of  ours.  And  when  that  struck  me 
again,  I  was  just  more  ugly  and  desperate  than  ever. 
Between  the  two  of  them  —  he  with  his  "  Property  " — 
with  his  money,  whatever  it  was  that  he  had  there;  and 
she  with  that  worry  and  anxiety  over  him,  that  had  gone 
now  right  up  to  the  edge  of  superstition  and  craziness  — 
I  was  desperate. 

And  then,  just  then,  I  looked  out  and  my  eye  fell  again 
on  that  old  Fever  fire  smoldering  on  the  street,  and  some 
thing  took  me ;  I  could  feel  myself  going  —  the  blood 
rushing  up  back  of  my  ears  into  my  head.  I  gave  up.  I 
didn't  care  any  more  what  I  said  or  did. 

"  Let  her  alone,"   I  said,   talking  hoarse.     "  Let  her 


186  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

stay  if  she  wants  to.  But  she  knows  now  for  certain  how 
we  feel.  She  knows  that  she's  a  burden  and  danger  to  us. 
And  now  she  knows  it  —  let  her  stay  if  she  wants  to  — 
let  her  stay !  " 

"  Beavis !  "  said  Vance. 

I  didn't  look  at  her.  But  I  knew  she  stepped  back,  and 
away  from  me.  I  could  hear  her  drawing  in  her  breath, 
surprised. 

"  You  never  talked  like  that  to  me  before,"  she  said, 
afterwards,  in  a  low  voice. 

But  I  didn't  look  at  her.  I  kept  my  eyes  away  from 
hers  —  the  way  you  always  do  when  you're  mad. 

"  It's  settled,"  I  said,  not  answering  her,  going  right 
ahead  with  the  meanest  talk  I  could  think  of.  "  It's  set 
tled  —  you'll  stay ;  we'll  all  stay.  And  you  can  get  the 
Fever  and  give  it  to  us.  And  we'll  all  die  together.  Then 
you'll  be  satisfied.'* 

"  Beavis,"  said  Vance,  standing  before  me.  "  Can't 
you  help  me?  Won't  you  help  me  when  I'm  trying  to  do 
what  I  think  is  right?  " 

"  You're  not  doing  right,"  I  said.  "  You're  doing  all 
wrong,  and  you  know  it,"  I  told  her,  and  wouldn't  look  at 
her. 

She  stood  looking  at  me  a  little  longer ;  and  then  turned 
away  toward  her  father. 

"  Good-night,  Dad,"  she  said. 

But  he  didn't  move  a  muscle  toward  her,  or  speak. 

And  finally  she  turned,  we  standing  there,  and  stood 
there  in  the  doorway,  looking  back  a  minute  at  her  father. 
She  didn't  even  glance  at  me. 

"  I'm  going  to  stay,"  she  said.  "  I'm  going  to  stay. 
You  can't  scare  me  that  way." 

It  seemed  to  me  as  she  stood  there  looking  at  him,  that 
I  saw  that  little  nervous  shudder  come  over  her  again. 


THE  FEVER  FIRE  187 

Lord,  how  I  would  liked  to  have  helped  her!  How  I 
wanted  to  go  over  and  take  her  in  my  arms  and  comfort 
her!  But  of  course,  I  didn't.  I  just  stood  there,  like 
you  do  when  you're  mad ; —  looked  away,  still  as  a  log, 
just  disregarding  her. 

And  she  went  out  alone,  and  we  heard  her  in  silence,  as 
she  climbed  upstairs  to  her  bedroom. 

I  turned  and  faced  my  Uncle  then. 

"  How  does  she  look  to  you?  "  he  said,  looking  sharp 
at  me. 

"  Bad,"  I  said,  "  as  bad  as  she  can.  Just  all  tired 
out." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  stood  looking  out  the  window, 
thinking.  "  Yes." 

"  She  won't  last  a  week  after  the  Fever's  here,"  I  said. 

"  She'll  come  around,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  after  a 
while,  like  he  was  telling  himself  so.  "  She'll  come 
around." 

And  then  he  went  on,  talking  to  me. 

"  You  did  j  ust  right,"  he  said,  "  I  was  afraid  one  time 
you  wouldn't;  but  you  did  just  right." 

And  when  I  didn't  answer  him,  or  pay  any  attention,  he 
went  on  again. 

"  Just  right,"  he  said,  "  just  right.  That's  the  way 
to  handle  women." 

"How?  What  do  you  mean?"  I  said,  looking  at 
him. 

"  Hurt  their  feelings.  Make  'em  think  they're  wrong. 
Set  'em  thinkin'  they're  harmin'  you  —  then  go  off  and 
leave  'em  —  let  'em  think !  Let  *em  worry !  " 

I  stood  and  listened  to  him,  while  he  went  along,  talk 
ing  to  himself. 

"  Keep  away  from  her  after  that.  Let  her  think  about 
it.  They'll  come  around.  They'll  come  around  some- 


188  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

times.  They  can't  stand  it,  especially  those  high  strung 
and  nervous  ones. 

"  It's  the  only  way  to  handle  'em  sometimes.  Espe 
cially  those  high  strung  ones  like  her  and  her  mother. 
Hurt  their  feelings  —  blame  'em !  And  then  leave  'em 
alone  and  leave  'em  think." 

I  held  my  tongue  to  keep  from  talking.  But  he  went 
along  too  far  for  me. 

"  You'll  see,"  he  said.  "  You'll  see  how  it  acts  with 
her.  She'll  be  round,  all  ready  to  go,  to-morrow." 

"  Hell !  "  I  said,  breaking  loose.  "  A  million  devils  !  " 
For  it  made  me  sick  to  hear  him  talk.  "  She  won't  go, 
nor  any  of  the  rest  of  us.  We'll  be  here  —  you,  she  and 
I,  and  all  of  us,  staying  —  watching  your  '  Property  ' !  " 
I  said.  "  We'll  stay  here  and  when  we  move  at  all,  we'll 
move  under  ground !  " 

My  Uncle  looked  at  me  —  more  quiet. 

"  That's  the  only  way  I  know,"  he  said.  "  That's  the 
only  way  I  know  to  get  her  out.  Do  you  know  any  bet 
ter?  " 

"  No,"  I  had  to  say.     "  No,  I  don't." 

"  Then  keep  away  from  her.  You  keep  away  from  her. 
And  let  me  try  and  see  how  it  works." 

"  All  right,"  I  said.  "  I  certainly  will.  I'll  try  any 
thing  now. 

"  And  now,"  I  said,  while  he  stood  watching  me.  "  Let's 
talk  and  settle  how  we'll  save  that  '  Property  '  of  yours 
—  your  house  here  and  whatever  else  it  is  you've  got 
there,"  I  said,  looking  at  him.  "  Let's  find  out  how  we'll 
kill  that  half-nigger!" 

They  say  that  fear  strikes  different  folks  in  different 
ways,  at  different  times.  It  made  me,  at  that  time,  I 
know,  like  a  wild  savage  beast.  I  just  wanted  to  hurt 
somebody  —  like  I  was  being  hurt. 


THE  FEVER  FIRE  189 

"  I  mean  it !  "  I  said  to  my  Uncle  Hagar,  who  stood 
looking  at  me.  "  I  mean  it !  I'd  kill  anything,  by  God ! 
For  six  bits,  I'd  kill  you !  " 

He  stood  still  looking  at  me  in  the  eye,  reading  me. 
"  That's  the  talk !  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  You'll  do." 

And  his  face  came  out  again  into  that  mean  old  crooked 
smile. 

After  that  we  planned  together  for  a  little  while  —  for 
watching  out  for  that  half-nigger  that  night  —  and  for 
getting  him.  But  not  very  long,  either.  I  left  the  plan 
ning  of  it  mostly  to  him.  And  pretty  quick  I  went  along 
upstairs,  still  mad  and  savage. 

But  when  I  got  upstairs,  up  alone  in  my  room  —  I 
don't  deny  it  —  I  just  stood  there,  and  turned  my  face 
to  the  wall  —  put  my  head  up  against  my  arm  and  cried. 
For  it  seemed  to  me  likely  now,  we'd  all  go,  now  —  all  die. 
But  Vance  for  certain. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    TRAP 

IT  was  my  share  to  watch  the  last  part  of  that  night 
till  daylight.  My  Uncle  was  to  stay  there  in  the 
study  until  two  or  three  o'clock;  and  if  anything 
happened,  which  we  didn't  expect  that  night,  he  would  tap 
on  the  ceiling  just  under  my  bed  with  his  cane.  And  if 
there  was  nothing,  he  would  come  up  and  scratch  at  my 
door  when  he  wanted  me,  and  I  would  stay  there  in  my 
own  room  and  watch  —  for  I  was  just  exactly  as  well 
placed  there  to  see,  as  I  would  be  down  below. 

So,  at  half  past  two,  I  heard  him  scratching  at  my 
door,  and  I  got  up  and  rattled  the  knob,  and  my  Uncle 
Hagar  went  along  to  bed  and  left  me  watching. 

I  sat  and  watched  out  the  window,  and  I  saw  just  noth 
ing  at  all.  Too  mighty  little  in  fact.  It  was  too  quiet. 
There  wasn't  one  thing  that  showed  alive  but  that  yellow 
lamp  upstairs  where  the  Fever  was  down  under  the  hill. 
And  at  three  o'clock,  the  lamp-lighter  putting  out  the 
gas  lights.  But  not  one  sound,  I  noticed,  from  the  dogs. 
I  did  notice  that.  I  didn't  see  our  dogs  once.  And  the 
other  dogs  weren't  so  noisy  now.  They  had  killed  a  great 
lot  of  them  off  since  the  Fever  came  —  poisoned  them. 

But  I  didn't  think  about  the  dogs  or  anything,  so  much 
as  I  should  have,  I  expect.  My  mind  was  too  full  of 
what  I  had  seen  and  understood,  and  been  scared  about 
during  that  long  day  I'd  just  gone  through. 

The  night,  there  by  the  window,  was  just  as  long  and 

190 


THE  TRAP  191 

longer.  And  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  go  over  all  that  day 
again  —  one  thing  after  another  —  the  Fever,  and  the 
chances  of  getting  away  from  it  now;  and  all  those  crazy, 
unbreakable,  invisible  chains  which  bound  us  there,  while 
death  climbed  up  on  us,  up  the  street. 

I  thought  about  my  Uncle  and  his  "  Property,"  of  that 
"  Hagar's  Hoard,"  or  whatever  it  was  he  really  stayed 
for;  and  of  that  half -nigger  he  was  watching  now,  like  a 
wild  Indian  in  ambush,  with  no  mind  left  for  anything 
else.  And  Vance  —  most  of  all,  Vance  —  with  her  ob 
stinacy  and  her  great  danger,  and  that  foolish  presenti 
ment  of  hers  about  her  father. 

Vane!  I  saw  her  fine,  delicate,  drawn  face  ahead  of 
me  in  the  dark  all  that  night.  Her  pale  face  set  off  with 
its  crown  of  thick  black  hair.  Her  parted  sensitive  lips, 
and  her  deep  eyes  —  deeper  now  for  that  crazy  fear  and 
apprehension  that  had  caught  her  since  the  Fever  came. 
Vance,  with  that  fear  in  her  eyes,  half  like  a  young 
prophetess  out  of  the  Old  Bible  —  half  like  a  sensitive 
child  afraid  of  the  dark.  I  sat  and  saw  her,  and  her 
danger,  staying  there;  saw  it  the  clear  way  you  do  some 
times,  at  night,  and  I  saw  more  and  more  all  the  time, 
what  it  would  mean  to  me,  if  anything  should  happen  to 
her  —  if  she  should  stay  there  and  die. 

I  sat  there  and  looked  out  into  the  dark  —  a  fright 
ened  boy,  in  love  —  just  staring  eternity  in  the  face! 
And  shivering  at  it,  and  scared.  And  when  my  mind 
traveled  back  again,  over  it  all ;  and  I  realized  the  thing 
that  held  her  there  —  just  the  shadow  of  a  dream  —  I 
writhed  in  my  old  armchair,  and  got  up  on  my  feet  and 
walked  the  room. 

It  was  crazy,  if  you  looked  at  it  so,  absolutely  crazy. 
And  yet,  since  that  time  and  during  it,  I  haven't  ever 
undertaken  to  say  just  who  was  sane,  or  what  was,  in 


192  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

such  a  time  as  that  was.  They  say  in  shipwrecks,  folks 
get  that  way  —  and  rant  and  stamp  and  have  strange 
ideas,  and  show  plain  just  all  the  thoughts  and  wishes  and 
anxieties  that  really  have  control  and  government  of  their 
mind.  And  even  at  that  time,  when  I  wa.s  going  through 
it,  I  understood  partly  the  strain  that  folks  were  going 
under,  in  that  Fever  summer  —  their  fear  of  death,  their 
flight,  their  funny  crazy  ideas  for  cleansing  and  burning 
and  shooting  that  Fever  poison  out  of  the  air.  And  the 
superstition  of  the  negress,  and  the  strained  actions  of 
all  kinds  that  went  on  around  us.  And  I  could  see,  too, 
partly,  how  that  impression  had  fixed  itself  on  Vance's 
mind.  First  the  worry  for  the  Fever  generally;  then  for 
her  father  in  particular.  And  then  that  dream  came  out 
of  it  and  brought  that  sharp  sense  of  fear  that  everybody 
has  had  sometime  or  other  after  some  bad  dream,  I  be 
lieve.  Only  hers  was  multiplied  and  kept  alive  continually 
by  everything  that  was  going  on  around  her. 

About  her  father,  whether  he  was  crazy  or  sane,  or  not, 
I  never  did  pretend  to  say  —  not  to  this  day.  What  is 
being  crazy,  anyway?  You  tell  me.  I  can't  say.  We 
all  have  our  ideas  that  just  won't  balance  right  —  if  we 
will  only  stop  and  watch  them.  And  all  I  know  or  think 
about,  when  I  remember  now  how  my  Uncle  acted  then,  is 
that  old  common  fear  which  grips  and  rules  the  mind  of 
all  of  us  sometimes  —  and  especially  when  we  get  old  — 
that  fear  for  property  —  of  losing  what  we've  got.  In 
all  the  actions  I  remember  most  of  him,  as  I  tell  them  to 
you  now,  I  see  that  old  specter  of  fear  grabbing  him  and 
taking  him  along  with  it,  out  from  our  eyes  into  eternity 
—  just  as  real  and  actual  a  thing  as  anything  in  this 
world. 

At  breakfast  time,  I  know,  he  and  I  sat  alone  again. 
Vance  was  not  feeling  well,  and  sent  down  word  she  would 


THE  TRAP  193 

have  to  be  excused.  And  so,  though  I  had  planned  and 
planned  what  I  would  say  and  do  when  she  came  down,  I 
didn't  even  see  her.  She  just  stayed  away  from  us. 

Arabella  moved  around,  taking  care  of  us  at  breakfast 
time.  Another  one  of  the  German  children  in  the  house 
below  was  mighty  low,  she  told  me.  And  she  said  the 
Fever  was  moving  on,  now  —  was  gone  into  two  other 
houses  on  that  street  below  there. 

"  You  ain't  seen  my  little  dog  this  morning?  "  she  asked 
us,  when  she  got  through  talking  — "  You  ain't  seen  my 
Belle  anywhere?  " 

We  hadn't,  either  of  us. 

"  She  ain't  been  around  all  mornin'.  Gen.  Sherman, 
old  fool,  he's  been  in,  but  I  ain't  seen  nothin*  at  all  of 
Belle  since  way  along  early  last  evening." 

And  my  Uncle  winked  at  me  —  one  of  those  deep,  slow 
winks  that  old-fashioned  people  give  you  —  plain  and 
clear  as  drawing  down  a  curtain. 

"  He's  got  her !  He's  got  her ! "  he  said,  after  Ara 
bella  left  the  room,  and  smiled. 

He  hadn't  slept  much,  it  looked  like.  His  face  showed 
that.  But  he  was  cheerful  —  almost  happy  acting  —  that 
morning,  and  quick  and  full  of  snap  almost  as  a  young 
boy. 

"  She'll  be  round  at  noon,"  he  said  about  Vance. 
"  She'll  come  around  and  go  before  the  twenty-four  hours 
are  up."  And  he  said  he  was  glad  that  she  wasn't  down 
that  morning,  so  we  could  have  it  for  ourselves  to  talk. 
Then  he  took  me,  right  away,  into  that  study,  and  showed 
me  more  about  that  old  trap  that  he  was  laying  for  the 
half-nigger. 

"  I  don't  expect  too  much.  All  we  got  to  expect  is 
he'll  come,  and  take  a  look.  All  he'll  do  to-night,  I  ex 
pect,"  he  said,  "  will  be  to  come  alookin*. 


194  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  He'd  have  to  look ;  he'd  j  ust  have  to  look  anyway," 
he  went  along,  "  or  he  wouldn't  be  a  nigger. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  if  we  get  him  on  the  premises  — ! 
That's  all  we  want ! " 

I  shrank  back  a  little  bit;  I  expect  I  showed  it.  For 
I  thought  naturally  of  what  the  Marshal  had  said  about 
shooting  down  on  sight  anybody  that  you  found  loitering 
around  your  premises.  And  by  that  time  I'd  got  over 
that  first  flash  of  wanting  to  hurt  and  kill  something  that 
I  had  the  night  before.  And  I  did  think,  whatever  he  said, 
that  he  meant  to  kill  that  half-nigger  or  hurt  him  mon 
strously,  anyhow,  when  he  got  him  there. 

"  Don't  fret ;  don't  get  excited,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  I 
ain't  agoing  to  kill  him.  I  ain't  made  up  my  mind  yet 
just  what  I  am  going  to  do;  I'll  get  him  somewheres,  but 
I  won't  kill  him  right  outright." 

Then  he  showed  me  more  about  his  trap  —  how  he'd 
worked  it  out  —  sitting  there  counting  and  working  on 
his  books,  and  how  at  night  he  put  away  his  Confederate 
money  behind  some  books  and  left  it  there,  and  how  sure 
he  was  that  some  of  the  time,  anyhow,  the  half-nigger  had 
been  over  there  at  the  Ventress's  watching. 

"  I  don't  mean  I  expect  him  to  get  in  here,"  said  my 
Uncle  Athiel,  "  right  away.  All  we  got  to  look  for  is  to 
get  him  up  here  —  up  to  those  windows  there." 

There  were  two  of  them,  French  windows,  that  opened 
out  on  two  little  balconies,  two  of  those  stiff  looking  little 
balconies,  with  heavy  wooden  railings  around  them  and 
thick  short  posts  like  dumb-bells  —  where  nobody  ever 
goes  out  to  sit. 

"  If  you  can  get  him  in  there  on  one  of  those,"  said  my 
Uncle  Athiel,  "  we've  got  him. 

"  Now  then,"  he  said,  "  let's  me  and  you  go  out  and 


THE  TRAP  195 

take  a  turn  around  the  yard.  Maybe  we  might  find  out 
something  about  that  dog  —  that  little  dog  of  hers." 

So  we  did ;  we  went  out ;  and  around  the  servants'  room 
and  the  big  empty  barn,  and  the  stable  —  the  shed  we 
used  for  the  old  horse  —  out  beside  the  alley.  Finally, 
all  at  once,  my  Uncle  stooped  down,  and  dragged  out 
something  stiff  from  underneath  the  corner  of  the  shed. 

"  Look  yere !  "  he  said. 

It  was  Belle,  the  little  dog,  flat  and  stiff  as  a  board. 
Her  back  was  hunched  and  her  front  legs  drawn  up  un 
derneath  her. 

"  Strychnine,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  kicking  it  back 
under  with  his  foot.  He  talked  pretty  low  and  soft. 
Then  right  away  he  talked  up  a  lot  louder. 

"  Who  did  that?  I'd  like  to  know  who  did  that?  I'd 
like  to  catch  him  at  it,"  he  said  loudly,  and  winked  at 
me  when  he  said  it. 

"  You  can't  tell  where  he  might  be  watching,"  said  my 
Uncle,  when  we  had  got  back  again  in  the  house. 

"  That  looks  good,"  he  said,  "  that  looks  like  a  good 
sign.  He's  comin'  on ;  he's  comin'  faster'n  I  thought. 

"  Now,  you  get  along  out  of  here,"  he  said.  "  I'll  see 
you  later,"  and  he  closed  himself  in  behind  the  big  brown 
doors  again.  And  went  on,  I  suppose,  with  his  play-act 
ing  —  and  tolling  in  that  nigger,  with  his  old  Confederate 
money.  And  I  went  along  and  tried  to  kill  off  the  time 
in  another  day. 

Most  of  all  I  wanted  to  see  Vance  —  just  how  she 
looked,  if  nothing  else.  And  yet,  I  didn't  want  to  see  her, 
either  —  not  so  she  would  have  a  chance  to  talk  to  me. 
I  couldn't  talk  to  her  —  not  after  that  last  night. 

So  after  all  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  it  was  bet 
ter  for  me  and  /or  her  that  I  didn't  see  her;  that  maybe 


196  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

by  keeping  away  and  just  leaving  her  to  herself  both  of 
us,  like  my  Uncle  said  to  do  —  she  would  finally  come 
around  herself,  come  to  her  senses  and  get  out. 

But  whatever  I  thought  I  was,  or  wasn't  going  to  do 
if  I  saw  her  made  no  difference,  for  I  did  not  see  Vance 
that  day,  not  alone.  She  stayed  in  her  room  late  that 
morning,  till  I  worried  for  fear  she  was  taken  sick.  But 
later  on  she  was  out  around  the  upper  story  at  her  morn 
ing's  work,  and  at  noon  she  was  at  the  dinner  table.  But 
silent,  talking  not  at  all  to  either  her  father  or  to  me. 

Not  one  of  us  were  talking,  not  even  of  the  Fever,  nor 
how  it  was  running  out  now  to  other  houses  from  that 
Fever  house  there  on  the  corner.  And  right  away  again 
after  dinner,  Vance  went  back  again  upstairs. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  her  father  said.  "  She'll  come  round 
and  go." 

That  afternoon,  it  was,  the  second  child  of  the  grocer, 
Otterman,  died,  in  that  house  below.  The  niggers  came 
with  another  coffin,  and  I  heard  the  mother  screaming  as 
they  took  it  out  again  —  much  worse  than  the  first  time. 
She  was  getting  in  hysterics  now  —  alone  in  the  house 
with  all  those  sick  folks,  and  only  a  nigger  nurse  they  sent 
her  in  to  help  her.  She  got  quiet  after  a  while.  But 
it  made  you  crawl  whenever  she  got  started  —  hearing 
her  and  thinking  what  it  meant.  And  what  it  might  mean 
to  you  and  all  the  rest.  And  all  the  time  I  knew,  of 
course,  Vance  sat  up  there  alone,  listening  to  it. 

That  monstrous  day  passed  finally.  Time  for  supper 
came  and  went,  and  Vance  came  down  and  went  right  back 
again,  and  shut  herself  up  in  her  own  room  —  still  silent. 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  street,  before  the  Fever  house, 
that  night.  When  there  were  a  number  sick  in  a  place 
like  that,  they  got  careless  about  their  fires.  There 
wasn't  bedding  enough  to  go  round,  most  likely.  I  know 


THE  TRAP  197 

I  saw  that  afternoon,  the  mother,  the  little  German  woman, 
crying  and  hanging  out  the  bedclothes  to  dry  in  the  back 
yard. 

But  as  far  as  I  could  see,  my  Uncle  Athiel  paid  no  at 
tention  to  all  of  this.  He  might  have  been  in  Russia  for 
all  the  thought  he  gave  the  Yellow  Fever.  He  had  his 
mind  on  just  one  thing,  that  game  that  he  was  playing; 
that  tolling  in  of  that  half-nigger. 

And  after  supper  a  while,  he  came  and  called  me. 

"  It's  comin'  on  better'n  I  expected,"  he  said.  And  I 
made  up  my  mind  he  had  seen  the  nigger  moving  about 
the  Ventress's  place.  Once  or  twice,  I  knew,  he  had  gone 
up  in  the  tower  that  afternoon  —  alone.  For  he  did 
everything  himself,  that  day;  he  was  spry  and  active  as 
a  boy.  And  if  he  wanted  anything  of  me,  he  said,  he 
would  call  and  let  me  know. 

"  The  dogs  won't  bother  him  any  now,"  said  my  Uncle. 
"  That  big  one  won't  do  anything  but  sleep  —  now  that 
black  and  tan  is  gone.  He  knew  that,  he  figured  on  it  — 
that's  why  he  didn't  get  him  too. 

"  He  may  come,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  —  he  may  come 
lookin'  to-night  —  you  can't  tell.  Things  are  movin'  on 
pretty  good." 

And  then  he  told  me  what  he  wanted  me  to  do.  He  had 
planned  it  further  while  he  was  sitting  there  that  after 
noon. 

He  was  going  to  leave  one  side  of  both  those  French 
windows  out  upon  the  balcony  without  locking  it. 

"  If  he  once  gets  up  there  —  on  a  balcony  —  like  I 
think  he  will;  just  a  touch,  just  a  touch  —  and  it  will 
swing  open  and  he's  inside.  And  then  — "  my  Uncle  said. 

"  Then  — "  I  said  after  him. 

"  Nothin'  will  keep  him  —  nothin'  will  just  keep  a  nig 
ger  from  steppin'  in.  And  when  he  does  — " 


198  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  waiting. 

"  You  let  him  have  it.  Let  him  have  it  till  we  get 
him." 

I  was  to  stand  between  the  windows  in  the  dark  —  back 
a  ways,  with  that  old  great  hickory  cane  of  his.  A  club, 
it  was  really. 

"  You  want  to  watch  out  for  him  though.  You  can't 
be  too  careful.  A  nigger's  eyesight  is  different  from  a 
white  man's.  A  nigger's  a  night  thing,"  said  my  Uncle 
Athiel,  "  just  as  much  as  an  owl.  He  can  see  in  the  dark 
just  like  an  old  owl.  That's  why  they  are  always  out  so, 
all  hours  of  the  night. 

"  Look  out  for  him.  You  want  to  look  out  for  him. 
Be  sure  and  get  him  the  first  crack.  He's  an  ugly  nigger 
—  a  hard  customer,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  A  hard  ticket. 
And  they've  always  got  somewhere  around  'em  —  those 
levee  niggers  —  one  of  them  big  knives  they  cut  and  slash 
each  other  with." 

"  111  get  him,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  you  will,"  said  my  Uncle,  looking  me 
over.  "  You're  pretty  strong  and  husky. 

"  But  if  you  don't,"  he  went  along,  "  I  can.  I'll  get 
him  somewhere." 

He  meant  that  he  would  get  him  with  that  old  Der 
ringer  of  his. 

So  it  was  all  fixed  up.  I  was  to  go  up  to  my  own  room, 
upstairs,  and  by  and  by  my  Uncle  Athiel  was  to  come 
up  too,  and  close  his  door,  and  lock  it  up.  And  all  the 
lights  in  the  house  would  be  out.  And  then,  after  a  little 
while  we  would  both  crawl  down. 

"  And  Vance  — "  I  said. 

"  That's  her  lookout,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  If  she  stays, 
she'll  just  have  to  take  what  comes  along  —  like  the  rest 
of  us. 


THE  TRAP  199 

"  But  she'll  come  round ;  she'll  come  round  and  go  to 
morrow,"  he  kept  on  saying.  "  You'll  see." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  before  I  heard  him  coming  up. 
I'd  got  almost  crazy  waiting  —  waiting  and  watching 
down  there  where  the  Fever  was. 

There  was  the  excitement  and  the  moving  around  of 
lamps  in  that  first  Fever  place  below,  us.  And  the  Ger 
man  woman,  those  children's  mother  —  screamed  again, 
once.  And  then,  after  that,  she  made  less  noise  and  out 
cry.  I  heard  her  still,  but  it  was  different.  It  seemed 
to  me  finally  that  it  sounded  more  like  she  was  laughing 
than  crying.  But  the  windows  were  all  down,  and  I 
couldn't  hear  her,  or  anything,  very  clear. 

I  got  downstairs  ahead  of  my  Uncle. 

"  Nothing  yet?  "  I  whispered  when  he  came. 

"  No,  nothin',"  he  told  me. 

"  But  he's  there,"  he  was  whispering,  "  he's  there !  cer 
tain  ! " 

We  took  our  places  like  we  planned.  I  on  the  inside 
between  the  windows  with  that  great  club  of  a  cane.  He, 
in  the  corner,  back  a  little,  with  his  old  Derringer.  We 
stood  there  —  waiting.  Nothing  —  not  a  sound.  Only 
that  German  woman  who  had  lost  her  children,  over  there 
—  only  now  and  then  that  German  woman  laughing. 

"  That  last  young  one's  dead,  I  expect,"  my  Uncle 
Athiel  whispered. 

It  got  on  my  nerves  terribly,  after  a  while,  hearing 
her. 

There  we  sat  —  waiting  and  waiting  —  like  hunters  in 
a  duck-blind.  A  half  hour,  and  an  hour,  nothing!  My 
Uncle  sat  down  finally,  back  there  in  the  corner. 

"  Wait,"  he  whispered,  once  or  twice.     "  Wait,  wait !  " 

The  side  of  the  French  window,  the  one  between  him 
and  me,  blew  open  just  a  crack.  I  heard  a  mosquito  in 


£00  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

the  room,  around  me.  I  closed  the  window  with  my  fin 
ger.  I  heard  my  Uncle  striking  softly  in  the  dark  at  the 
mosquito.  Then  he  waited. 

"  Keep  back!  "  said  my  Uncle.     «  Listen!  " 

There  was  something  —  after  awhile  —  something 
along  outside  the  wall  of  the  house. 

We  stood  there,  frozen,  hardly  breathing.  There  was 
something  light,  a  great  yellow  hand,  I  made  out  finally, 
on  the  dark  brown  balustrade  of  that  balcony  to  the 
window  between  him  and  me. 

And  still  I  heard  nothing  —  only  once  the  cry  —  the 
laughing  of  that  woman  again  down  there  below. 

Then  an  arm  came  up,  and  a  leg ;  a  leg  and  a  bare  foot. 
And  softly  and  slowly  the  great  half-nigger  stood  on  that 
old  balcony  between  us,  waiting! 

I  could  feel  the  old  smooth,  hard  hickory  cane  in  my 
hand,  and  a  piece  of  bark  which  still  stuck  out  on  the 
handle.  It  felt  like  I  was  holding  a  feather.  And  still 
we  stood  there  holding  back. 

Still  we  stood  there,  a  long,  long  while.  Then  all  at 
once  there  was  the  scratch  of  a  match,  and  we  shrank 
back,  both  of  us,  flat  back  against  the  wall.  The  match- 
light  grew  up,  shaded  in  a  big  saffron  colored  palm,  first 
blue,  then  yellow.  And  I  could  see,  from  where  I  stood, 
just  one  piece  of  the  cheek  of  that  great  half-nigger,  flat 
against  the  pane  —  pressed  flat  and  white  against  the 
glass.  And  a  great  long  scar,  with  knobs  and  roughness 
in  it,  whiter  than  the  rest,  running  clear  across  the  smooth 
yellowish  meat  of  the  cheek. 

He  stood  and  looked  —  for  a  second  or  two  —  we  still 
waiting.  Then  like  a  flash  the  great  coarse  saffron  palms 
just  closed  on  the  match  and  it  was  out  again.  He  must 
have  thought  he  heard  somebody  passing  on  the  street. 


THE  TRAP  £01 

For  he  turned  his  back;  hugged  close  to  the  window,  and 
waited  —  waited  till  he  was  sure. 

But  all  at  once  he  moved  a  little  —  he  must  have  moved, 
for  the  unlocked  side  of  the  window  gave  way  —  and  the 
great  nigger  half  stumbled,  half  rolled  in  onto  the  floor 
between  us. 

"  Stomp  him !  Stomp  him !  "  yelled  my  Uncle  Athiel. 
"  Let  him  have  it !  " 

But  like  a  cat  the  half-nigger  rolled,  and  when  he 
rolled,  he  kicked  me  with  his  great  bare  foot,  and  in  a 
second,  there  I  was,  rolling  on  the  floor  myself. 

And  in  another  second  "  Whang !  "  my  Uncle's  old  Der 
ringer  had  gone,  and  the  room  was  full  of  its  blue  smoke. 

"  Missed  him,  by  God !  Missed  him !  "  said  my  Uncle 
Athiel  —  in  the  voice  of  a  man  just  dying  in  despair. 

The  half-nigger  was  gone;  he  hadn't  hit  him;  there 
wasn't  a  sign  of  blood  or  anything. 

I  didn't  wait ;  I  was  out  after  him.  Over  tne  balcony, 
out  into  the  yard,  running  as  if  the  Devil  was  after  me. 
Out  in  the  middle  of  the  back  yard  before  I  stopped. 

What  was  I  running  for?     Where  to? 

I  stopped  and  listened.  Not  a  sound  or  a  sign.  Not 
a  sign  of  the  half-nigger  to  be  had. 

Barefoot,  gone  —  out  into  the  darkness !     Not  a  sound ! 

Not  a  sound  anywhere.  Only,  once  again,  that  Ger 
man  woman  who  had  lost  her  children,  laughing. 

"  Come  back  in  here,  you  fool !  "  my  Uncle  called  from 
the  side  doorway.  "  Come  in  here !  Come  out  of  that 
poison  night  air !  " 

I  stood  for  just  a  second,  and  I  did  what  he  told  me  to. 

I'd  heard  so  much  about  it  —  all  the  time  —  that 
poison  Fever  air.  How  deadly  it  was;  and  how  it  got 
you.  We  had  shut  it  out  so  carefully.  And  it  seemed 


202  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

somehow,  when  I  stood  there,  like  I  could  feel  it  —  just 
feel  it  —  thick  and  poison,  all  around  me. 

I  shivered  and  went  hurrying  back  —  and  in  the  door. 
And  it  seemed,  when  I  went  in,  like  that  woman  was  down 
there  laughing  after  me. 

"You  fool!"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "You  double- 
damned  fool !  Now  you've  exposed  us  all.  You've  got 
us  all  the  Fever,  most  likely." 

Not  a  word  any  more  about  the  half-nigger;  not  a 
word.  But  then,  on  the  stairs ;  behind  him  —  her  black 
hair  in  long  braids  below  her  waist;  a  long  white  India 
shawl,  that  was  her  mother's,  over  her  night-dress  — 
Vance  was  calling  in  a  high  sharp  voice: 

"  What  is  it?     Oh,  what  is  it?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  We 
were  just  shooting  at  a  nigger  —  a  nigger  sneakin' 
through  the  yard.  We  were  taking  a  shot  at  a  nigger." 

He  gave  very  little  explanation  more  than  that. 
Just  sent  her  back  to  bed,  scared  and  wondering. 


BOOK  V 
VANCE  HAGAR 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    HEADACHE 

I  HAVE  often  thought  of  her,  lying  there  alone  that 
night,  in  that  high  old  empty  Ivory  Room,  which 
Mr.  Bozro  built  for  his  wife's  grand  boudoir. 
Alone  and  wondering,  with  nothing  more  human  for  com 
panionship  than  those  little  simpering  frescoed  cupids 
looking  down  on  her  from  the  ceiling.  Left  to  herself, 
not  knowing  what  had  really  happened,  in  all  that  row 
and  shooting  down  below  her.  And  the  Fever  mounting 
up  under  her  windows.  And  that  German  woman  laugh 
ing  and  crying  out  there.  And  all  the  time  that  shadow 
of  her  strange  monstrous  presentiment  about  her  father. 

I  expect,  probably,  from  what  she  has  told  me  after 
wards  —  though  she  never  speaks  of  it  more  than  she  can 
help  —  that  she  lay  awake  all  that  night,  growing  sicker 
every  minute  toward  the  morning,  and  yet,  though  she 
certainly  must  have  known  what  the  symptoms  were  most 
like,  never  calling  out  to  either  one  of  us  —  though  both 
of  us  were  lying  there  awake  —  without  a  doubt  —  in 
those  rooms  next  to  hers. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  want  to  disturb  you  —  I  didn't  want  to. 
I  just  didn't  want  to,"  she  told  me,  trying  to  explain  it. 
For  she  was  sure  all  the  time,  so  she  has  always  said,  that 
she  never  was  in  danger  —  that  there  was  only  one  of  us 
really  who  was,  her  father. 

"  I  can't  explain  it  to  you,"  she  said.  "  I  just  knew. 
And  I  knew  it  wasn't  I." 

205 


206  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  so,  we  all  three  lay  there  that  night,  awake.  For 
I  am  certain  my  Uncle  Hagar  was  awake  too.  We  all 
three  just  lay  there,  thinking  out  our  own  thoughts, 
though  one  of  us,  I  expect,  was  too  sick  to  think  much. 

"  Now  we  all  of  us  can  go  to  bed  and  sleep,"  my  Uncle 
had  said  —  when  he  locked  up  the  side  door  —  after  I 
ran  in;  and  Vance  had  started  back  again  to  her  room, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  outside  through  the  win 
dows. 

"  He  won't  be  back  again  to-night,"  my  Uncle  said, 
talking  of  the  half-nigger. 

Now  it  was  easy  enough  to  say,  "  Go  to  sleep,"  but  it 
was  something  different  to  do. 

It  was  Thursday  night  —  for  one  thing ;  and  the  nig 
gers  —  those  hollering  saints  —  were  out  again  for  an 
all-night  meeting  in  the  sanctified  chapel  down  back  under 
the  hill.  We  didn't  hear  them  much,  earlier;  they  were 
slow  in  working  up  the  meeting,  I  expect.  But  now,  when 
I  had  got  up  into  my  room,  we  heard  the  Clap !  Clap ! 
Clap!  and  the  Stamp!  Stamp!  Stamp!  of  the  sancti 
fied  niggers  perambulating  round  and  getting  drunker  and 
drunker  on  salvation.  And  after  a  while  they  were  danc 
ing  and  screaming  and  rolling  on  the  floor,  getting  saved. 
I  never  heard  them  before  or  since  get  quite  so  bad.  The 
Fever  had  something  to  do  with  it,  naturally;  and  those 
old  prophecies  of  the  nigger  woman  from  Arkansas  about 
the  end  of  the  world,  or  Memphis,  or  whatever  it  was. 

The  noise,  and  all  that,  was  bad  for  rest  and  sleeping. 
But  it  wasn't  all  the  time.  It  came  in  kind  of  gusts  and 
stopped  again.  And  I  was  used  to  it,  more  or  less,  and 
the  windows  were  all  down,  anyway.  And  speaking  for 
myself,  I  know  the  thing  that  really  kept  me  from  resting 
that  night  was  just  my  own  thoughts  —  and  the  way  I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself. 


THE  HEADACHE  207 

I  was  worried  and  scared  at  the  Fever,  and  desperate, 
now,  almost,  about  the  chances  of  ever  getting  away  from 
those  old  bonds  which  held  us  there  while  it  came  around 
us.  That  was  the  thing  that  scared  me.  But  from  that 
minute,  funny  enough,  what  troubled  me  most  was  my 
shame  and  humiliation  for  the  figure  I  had  cut  in  all  that 
thing  that  night.  My  cheeks  burned  when  I  went  over 
it,  and  I  pulled  my  full  strength  at  my  finger  knuckles,  and 
turned  and  twisted  in  my  chair  —  as  I  sat  there,  looking 
out  the  window.  We  feel  that  way  at  twenty-one  —  over 
any  mistake  we  make.  It's  worse  than  any  fever  —  worst 
of  all  when  it's  just  a  little  public. 

My  whole  action  in  this  thing  had  been  so  foolish.  The 
half-nigger  had  gone  —  slipped  away  from  our  fingers. 
I  had  bungled  that  myself  —  once  in  losing  him ;  twice  in 
following  him  out.  There  was  only  one  thing  that,  in  my 
heart,  I  could  be  thankful  for  —  that  my  Uncle  hadn't 
killed  the  nigger  right  there  under  my  eyes  and  nose. 

"  But  that  wasn't  my  fault  either,"  I  said  to  my 
self. 

While  I  sat  there,  staring,  thinking,  the  old  dog  Gen. 
Sherman  started  up  and  barked  once  or  twice  in  the 
yard  —  barked  quite  sharp  and  growled.  I  got  up  and 
looked  out  the  window  —  glad  to  do  something  that  would 
take  me  away  and  set  me  free  from  that  old  rolling  squir 
rel-cage  of  my  thoughts. 

"  Hullo !  "  I  said,  half  out  loud  to  myself  — "  That  old 
fool  is  still  alive !  " 

For  we  said  —  both  my  Uncle  Hagar  and  myself  — 
that  now  that  little  nervous  black  and  tan  was  dead,  the 
old  dog  would  just  lie  and  go  to  sleep  nights  —  never 
watch  at  all. 

But  he  barked  once  or  twice,  quite  loud;  and  growled, 
and  finally  just  stopped.  I  thought  first  it  was  Arabella 


208  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

coming  home  from  her  meeting.  But  it  was  too  ugly  a 
bark  for  that  somehow.  And  after  that,  too,  I  could 
hear  the  niggers  still  stamping,  and  calling  and  crying, 
down  back  under  the  hill. 

"  The  old  fool  must  be  having  a  bad  dream,"  I  said 
to  myself,  and  finally  sat  down  again. 

The  dog  was  barking,  it  seemed  like,  out  back  in  the 
yard  —  out  near  the  big  barn.  But  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  and  after  that  there  was  not  another  sound, 
that  I  heard,  all  that  night. 

It  couldn't  be  the  half-nigger,  I  said  to  myself.  He 
had  gone,  out  of  our  way;  he  certainly  wouldn't  be  back 
again,  that  night,  anyway,  like  my  Uncle  said.  He  had 
just  gone  —  and  the  fear  and  danger  from  him ;  he  seemed 
unreal  now,  like  everything  else.  The  folks  were  gone 
out  of  the  houses ;  the  ordinary  noises  from  out  the  streets ; 
even  the  sound  of  wheels  and  of  running  away !  And  the 
only  real  thing  left  out  of  all  of  it;  the  only  real  thing 
it  seemed  like  in  the  world,  was  that  old  invisible  thing 
we  couldn't  see,  or  touch,  or  understand  —  the  Fever  that 
filled  the  air  —  that  old  poison  night  air  outside  that 
window-glass. 

I  could  hear  —  in  my  mind  —  continually,  the  woman 
laugh  again,  from  the  open  windows  of  the  Fever  house. 
They  had  got  her  quiet  now.  You  didn't  hear  her  really. 
But  that  laugh  of  hers  kept  sounding  in  my  ears.  And 
when  my  mind  came  round  to  that  again,  I  stiffened  up, 
and  pulled  my  knuckles,  and  sat  straight  and  scared  once 
more.  For  I  heard,  for  the  hundredth  time,  my  Uncle 
calling  out  to  me! 

"  You  fool !     You  fool.     You've  got  us  all  the  Fever !  " 

For  if  all  those  theories,  that  everybody  had  then  were 
true,  about  the  night  air  and  the  poison  in  it  —  it  might 
be  that,  after  all  I'd  feared  and  worried,  it  was  I  myself 


THE  HEADACHE  209 

that,  for  the  first  time,  had  really  gone  and  exposed  the 
whole  of  us  to  the  chance  of  dying  by  that  Fever.  I 
didn't  know  anything  about  it,  of  course.  Nobody  did 
much,  those  days.  But  all  I  could  think  of  was,  that  at 
that  time,  when  the  Fever  was  there,  right  on  us,  just 
my  recklessness  and  general  foolishness  —  might  be  the 
thing  that  was  going  to  give  us  all  that  Fever.  Just 
when  I  ought  to  have  been  cool  —  and  kept  my  head  — 
I'd  broke  and  rushed  in,  like  a  wild  blundering  half- 
trained  young  dog  in  a  covey.  And  I  was  ashamed  and 
humiliated,  and  scared,  when  I  remembered  it. 

The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  jumpier  and  more  nervous 
I  got.  There  was  only  one  possible  escape  now  for  us 
that  I  saw  —  haste. 

"  Hurry !  Hurry ! "  something  kept  saying  in  me. 
"  If  we  get  out  at  all  now,  we've  got  to  hurry ! " 

But  how  could  we  get  out?     We  were  fastened  there. 

And  so  I  worried  and  tossed  and  twisted'  in  my  chair 
through  that  monstrous  ugly  night;  and  woke  up,  after 
a  few  snatches  of  late,  broken  sleep,  into  an  uglier  and 
more  dangerous  day  —  and  to  the  sudden  shock  of  that 
morning. 

My  Uncle  came  in  after  me  to  breakfast,  and  sat  down 
—  very  shaky,  and  I  looking  at  him  cornerwise.  I  never 
saw  one  night  change  any  man  like  that  did.  His  right 
eyelid  twitched  the  way  it  did  when  he  was  tired;  his 
hand  was  trembly,  and  his  face  was  yellower,  and  his  lips 
were  bluer  than  ever.  If  he  had  gone  back  twenty  years 
when  the  excitement  of  that  hunt  of  his  was  on,  he'd  gone 
forward  twenty  more  now  that  it  was  done.  The  flash 
and  go  was  all  gone  out  of  him.  And  he  seemed  to  have 
shrunk  and  weazened  and  waxened  all  at  once  into  an  old 
man.  The  flesh  had  sunk  and  fallen  in  between  the  bones 
of  his  face  —  in  his  temples  and  in  his  cheeks. 


210  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

I  noticed,  then,  after  we  sat  down,  that  he  kept  watch 
ing  continually  toward  the  door. 

"  You  heard  your  cousin  Vance,  this  morning?  "  he 
finally  asked  me. 

I  told  him  that  I  hadn't,  and  he  put  his  eyes  back  down 
again  on  his  plate.  But  every  now  and  then  he  still 
looked  up  toward  the  door. 

"  You  go  up  and  see  what's  keeping  Miss  Vance,'*  he 
said  to  Arabella. 

And  when  she  went,  he  kept  on  eating,  without  a  word 
to  me. 

"  Miss  Vance  ain't  acomin'  down,"  said  Arabella,  com 
ing  back.  She'd  grown  more  important  and  grand  those 
last  few  days ;  that  old  catlike  smile  of  hers  grew  all  the 
time  on  her  old  smooth  face. 

"Ain't  comin'!  Why  not?"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar, 
right  away. 

There  was  something  funny  about  the  way  the  negress 
talked. 

"  A  haidache  —  it  seems  like  she's  got,  a  right  bad 
haidache,"  said  Arabella,  and  though  her  face  was  just 
as  smooth  and  peaceful  as  it  ever  was,  her  eyes  rolled, 
and  her  voice  was  a  warning.  She  knew  just  as  well  as 
anybody  did  what  she  was  saying. 

"  A  headache!  "  I  said,  jumping  up. 

"  Yassah,"  said  Arabella,  "a  bad  haidache,  she  just 
kin  raise  her  haid  for  the  pillar." 

My  Uncle  jerked  up  onto  his  feet,  as  fast  as  his  old 
stiff  legs  would  let  him. 

"  Yassah,"  said  Arabella  —  for  good  measure  — 
"  yassah,  and  she's  shiv'in'  considerable  too." 

"  Shut  up,  you  black  fool !  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel, 
and  came  along  where  I  was  standing  waiting  for 
him. 


THE  HEADACHE 

"  I  hope  you're  satisfied !  "  I  said,  staring  him  in  the 
face. 

He  didn't  answer  me.  He  started  round  me  for  the 
door,  but  his  face  was  like  tallow  —  dead  and  lifeless  and 
yellow. 

"  You  and  your  damned  money !  "  I  said. 

"  You  go  and  get  the  doctor !  "  he  said  to  me.  In 
fact,  I  had  started  already  myself.  I  had  my  hat  in  my 
hand  already.  But  I  couldn't  go  without  blaming  him; 
without  saying  what  was  boiling  over  in  me. 

"  You  — "  I  said,  pointing  my  first  finger  in  his  face. 

"  You  —  you  —  damn  you !  "  I  said,  and  that  was  as 
far  as  I  could  get. 

And  I  whirled  around  and  hurried  toward  the  door. 

But  when  I  got  there,  going  out,  I  whirled  again. 

"  By  God ! "  I  said,  "  if  she's  got  it,  you  ought  to  die ! 
If  she's  taken  it  I'll  just  come  back  and  strangle  you 
with  my  own  hands,  I  believe." 

But  my  Uncle  Hagar  didn't  say  a  word,  nor  pay  any 
attention  to  me.  Just  went  along  steadily  into  the  hall 
and  upstairs. 

Then  I  turned  and  ran  towards  the  doctor's.  But  be 
fore  I  did,  I  saw  him  going  up  the  stairs  —  tugging  at 
the  banisters,  lifting  his  feet  slow  and  heavy  —  like  it 
was  hard  work  raising  them  from  the  floor  —  an  old,  old 
man,  with  a  bloodless,  tallow  face,  dragging  his  old  broken 
body  up  the  stairs. 

And  then  I  said  to  myself,  going  out  —  it  came  across 
me  in  a  flash: 

"  You're  blaming  him  —  when  it's  you  that  did  it. 
It's  your  fault  more  than  his.  You  brought  it  in  to  her 
last  night." 

And  then  I  was  running,  running  down  the  street, 
thinking,  "  You  did  that  for  certain.  It  was  you." 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  pretty  quick,  as  I  went  running,  my  feet  were  go 
ing  to  a  kind  of  chant  like  you  make  at  times  like  that, 
sometimes.  I  was  just  chanting  to  myself;  and  my  feet 
went  beating  out  over  and  over  again  to  that  same  thing. 

"  God  Almighty  —  I  did  that ! 

"  God  Almighty  —  I  did  that !  " 

It  couldn't  have  come  to  her,  of  course  —  not  that  way 
—  from  anything  I  did.  But  I  didn't  know  that  then. 

The  doctor  was  coming  out  of  the  gate  when  I  got 
there,  whistling  his  "  Arkansas  Traveler "  as  high  and 
gay  and  out  of  tune  as  usual.  And  Uncle  Mungo  sat 
waiting  for  him  with  his  buggy  out  in  the  front.  It  was 
the  prettiest  time  of  day.  There  were  roses  still,  out  in 
the  garden;  and  a  mocking  bird  was  singing  foolish 
gladness  in  a  bush  somewhere;  and  that  old  clear,  faint, 
smiling,  pale-green  Yellow  Fever  sky  was  hung  out  over 
the  world  like  the  proclamation  of  a  universal  holiday. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  doctor,  stopping  whistling. 

"  Vance !  "  I  said,  choking. 

"You  come  along  after  us,"  he  said;  and  jumped  in 
side  of  Mungo,  and  they  were  gone  along  up  the  road  be 
fore  I  knew  it. 

But  three  minutes  after  I  was  there  behind  them,  stand 
ing  outside  the  door  of  the  Ivory  Room,  listening. 

The  first  thing  I  heard  was  the  doctor's  voice,  and,  let 
me  tell  you  —  I  went  numb  when  I  first  heard  it. 

"  What  you  been  doing  to  this  child  ?  "  was  the  first 
thing  I  heard  him  say,  talking  to  my  Uncle. 

And  my  heart  gave  a  great  high  bound.  That  couldn't 
mean  the  Fever,  it  seemed  like  to  me. 

"  Nothin',"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  in  his  old  dead  voice. 

Then  they  were  both  quiet  for  a  minute,  and  it  was  my 
Uncle  who  spoke  next. 


THE  HEADACHE 

"  We  thought,"  he  said,  and  caught  his  breath,  "  it  was 
the  Fever." 

"  It  couldn't  be  much  more  like  it,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  But  it  isn't." 

And  the  flood  of  joy  and  happiness  and  comfort  came 
back  over  me  this  time  completely,  as  I  listened  there  be 
hind  the  door;  all  at  once  my  whole  soul  and  body  just 
cried  out  "  Glory,  Glory  Halleluiah !  " 

"  What  is  it  then  ?  "  my  Uncle  went   on  asking  him. 

"  Nerves !  This  girl  is  on  the  ragged  end  of  nervous 
collapse !  "  said  the  doctor.  And  I  heard  my  Uncle  sigh. 

Vance   laughed   then,    or   tried   to. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  she  said.  But  you  could  only 
just  hear  her. 

"  There's  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  said  the  doctor.  And 
her  laugh  died  down.  "  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  This  thing  must  have  been  going  for  days. 
What  I  don't  see  is  how  she  has  kept  up  till  now. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  he  said  to  her. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  And  when  she  tried 
to  laugh  him  off  again  — "  don't  laugh,"  he  said.  "  How 
long  have  you  been  having  these  shivering  spells  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  few  days,"  Vance  whispered,  offhand,  like  she 
always  did,  talking  about  herself. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  grunting  at  her.  "  I  see  — 
I  see  you  have. 

"  Now  the  first  thing  you've  got  to  do  is  to  get  her  out 
of  here,"  he  went  along,  talking  to  my  Uncle. 

"  I  been  tryin'  to,"  my  Uncle  said,  "  but  she  won't  go." 

"  Won't  go !  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  No  —  and  I  can't  make  her  go,"  mv  Uncle  said. 

"Why?" 

"  Ask  her,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  I  won't.  I  can't.  You  can't  make  me,"  Vance  whis 
pered. 

*  ,      ;  .  i 

"  You  see,"  said  my  Uncle's  voice  again. 

"Why  not?  "  the  doctor  went  on  asking  Vance. 

"  I'm  going  to  stay.  I'm  going  to  stay  as  long  as  he 
does,"  said  Vance's  whisper,  louder  and  more  excited. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  the  doctor  said  again.  "  Well  then ;  all 
right ;  you  get  ready  to  go,"  he  said,  "  for  he's  going. 
Your  father's  going." 

"  And  Beavis,  too,"  I  heard  her  say.  And  her  voice 
seemed  stronger  immediately,  right  away. 

"  Yes,  both  of  them,"  said  the  doctor  to  her.  "  Lie 
down !  Lie  down !  "  he  said  again.  "  You  won't  go  for 
a  day  or  two  yet.  And  when  they  all  go,  depends  upon 
just  one  thing  —  on  you;  on  how  quick  you  get  fit  and 
ready  to  be  going.  You  understand?  " 

I  heard  her  lie  back  again  with  a  sigh.  And  right 
after  that  the  two  men  came  out  together. 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  my  Uncle,  when  the  door  was  shut. 

"  You  saw  her !  "  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  him. 

"  She's  got  to  go  without  me.  Beavis  here  can  take 
her,"  my  Uncle  Athiel  answered  him. 

The  doctor  only  just  looked  at  him. 

"  Can't  you  make  her  go?"  my  Uncle  said. 

"  You've  tried  it,  haven't  you?  "  the  doctor  asked  him. 
But  my  Uncle  kept  on  arguing.  "  You  don't  understand 
it,"  he  kept  saying.  "  I  can't  go.  I  can't  go  and  leave 
my  property.  I  can't  do  it,"  said  my  Uncle. 

"  You  saw  her,"  said  the  doctor  a  second  time,  and 
stopped. 

My  Uncle  stood  there  —  just  stood  there,  motion 
less. 

"  I  can't  go !  I  can't  go ! "  he  said  again  after  a 
while.  "  I'm  near  enough  ruined  as  it  is." 


THE  HEADACHE  215 

"  That's  your  business,"  said  the  doctor  in  a  chilly 
way.  "  My  business  is  my  patient.  Now  I'll  tell  you 
about  that.  And  it  isn't  a  very  long  story : 

"  If  she  goes  away  she'll  be  all  right  in  two  weeks.  If 
she  stays  with  this  nervous  strain  that's  got  her  now,  she 
won't  be  alive  ten  days  from  now.  I  can  promise  you 
that.  And  that's  not  talking  about  the  Fever,  under 
stand!  If  she  gets  that,  like  she  probably  will,  she's 
dead  beforehand !  " 

"  She's  crazy,"  said  my  Uncle,  in  a  low  old  voice,  "  she's 
crazy  —  or  she'd  been  gone  long  ago." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  said  Dr.  Great- 
house.  "  It's  hard  telling  now,  who's  crazy  and  who  isn't 
these  days,"  he  said,  giving  a  meaning  look  at  my  Uncle. 

My  Uncle  stood,  not  noticing  him,  and  wet  his  bluish 
lips  with  his  tongue. 

"  I  can't !  I  won't !  "  he  said.  "  I  ain't  agoing  to  go 
and  leave  everything  I've  got  just  for  a  school-girl's 
nonsense. 

"  No,  sir.  You  don't  understand,"  he  said,  while  he 
stood  there  watching  him.  "  I'm  ruined  now,  near  enough. 
I'm  bound  out  to  the  poor  house  now,"  he  said,  "  for  sure 
and  certain.  But  I  ain't  going  till  I  have  to.  No,  sir! 
I'm  going  to  stay  right  here  and  watch  my  property  — 
what  little  I've  got  left." 

And  I  jumped  up  then,  raging  and  cursing.  That 
"  property  "  talk  was  the  last  straw. 

"  Property  !  Property !  "  I  called  out  to  him.  "  You 
old  devil.  Property !  You  old  murderer,  if  I  ever  hear 
you  talk  of  that  again,  I'll  choke  you  till  your  tongue 
hangs  out  your  mouth  longer  than  a  blacksnake !  " 

"  Shut  up,  you  young  fool,"  the  doctor  said  to  me. 

"  What'll  it  be?  "  he  said  to  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  It's 
going  to  be  one  or  the  other.  Which'll  it  be  —  that 


216  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

'  Property  '  or  that  little  girl  of  yours  ?  And  you  your 
self,  in  the  bargain  —  probably  !  " 

And  when  my  Uncle  Athiel  didn't  answer  him,  nothing 
but  a  sort  of  old  low  groan,  the  doctor  went  along  him 
self,  talking  low  and  quiet,  but  still  the  way  men  talk  when 
they're  giving  orders. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  looking  straight  and  steady  at  my 
Uncle,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  you're  going  to  do.  You're  go 
ing  to  get  out  of  here.  Right  away,  too.  You're  going 
to  take  what  you're  guarding  here,  and  get  out !  " 

"  What  I'm  guarding  here !  "  said  my  Uncle,  looking 
around. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  him  in  the  eye. 
"  We've  got  no  time  now  for  dancing  and  teetering  and 
mincing  words.  Yes  —  what  you're  guarding  here  — 
and  sacrificing  yourself  and  everybody  else  for." 

"  Guarding,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  talking  quicker  — 
getting  excited,  "  what  is  there  left  to  guard  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  reckon  you  don't,"  said  my  Uncle.  "  I  expect  you 
don't!" 

"  I  don't.  It's  none  of  my  business,"  said  the  doctor. 
But  my  Uncle  didn't  hear  him,  apparently  —  went  right 
on  with  his  own  thoughts. 

"  Nothin',"  he  said  with  a  groan.     "  Nothin' !  " 

"  Well,  if  that's  so,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you  certainly 
have  got  no  excuse  for  staying  here  anyway." 

My  Uncle  stood  there  —  staring,  just  staring  at  the 
wall  —  at  nothing.  Not  speaking,  looking,  his  eyes 
down,  scarcely  breathing. 

"  You're  going,"  said  the  doctor,  "  like  a  white  man 
should." 

And  still  my  Uncle  stood  staring  at  the  wall,  while  he 
waited. 


THE  HEADACHE  217 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said  at  last,  in  an  old  miserable  voice,  and 
very  low.  So  low  you  could  hardly  hear  him. 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said,  louder,  a  second  time  —  like  it  was 
torn  out  of  him. 

"  All  right,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I'm  glad  to  hear 
it." 

And  I  thought,  looking,  I'd  never  seen  a  man  change 
so  much  as  my  Uncle  Athiel  had  in  that  one  night  —  and 
that  morning.  That  flash  of  youth  he'd  had,  was  out ;  the 
fire  was  down  again  —  lower  than  ever,  almost  to  its 
embers.  The  flesh  had  sunk  and  fallen  into  holes  in  his 
face  —  in  his  temples  and  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  were 
dead  and  hopeless.  He  was  an  old,  old  man  where  he 
stood  there  looking  at  the  wall. 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said  a  third  time,  like  he  was  speaking  to 
himself.  "  To-morrow !  " 

"  Not  to-morrow,"  said  Dr.  Greathouse.  "  Maybe  the 
day  after.  But  to-morrow  she  won't  be  ready  to  go. 
She's  got  to  rest  a  day  anyhow." 

"  All  right,"  my  Uncle  said,  like  a  man  who  wants  to 
stop  talking.  "  The  day  after,  then." 

"  And  mind,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  can't  promise  any 
thing  certain." 

"  She  ain't  dangerous  now?  "  my  Uncle  asked  him,  and 
looked  up  at  him. 

"  No.  But  to-morrow  is  a  long  way  off,  these  days," 
said  the  doctor.  "  And  the  day  after  is  a  good  lot  fur 
ther. 

"  It's  all  around  you  now,"  he  said.  "  Back  and 
front,  and  everywhere.  The  Fever's  all  around  you." 

They  started  downstairs  together. 

"Keep  your  windows  down,  nights,  still?"  the  doctor 
said  —  making  conversation,  it  seemed  to  me,  for  my 
Uncle  didn't  talk.  He'd  just  stop  talking. 


218  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Yes,"  my  Uncle  answered  him  —  and  that  was  all. 

"  I  would,  I  believe,"  the  doctor  said,  "  until  I  went." 

I  noticed  specially  when  he  said  it  —  but  my  Uncle 
didn't  notice,  or  look  up  even. 

"  And  if  there's  anything  I  can  do,"  said  the  doctor 
again,  "  to  help  you  about  watching  this  property  here 
after  you're  gone,  I  want  to." 

"  I'll  see,"  said  my  Uncle,  but  that  was  all.  He  didn't 
look  up  or  thank  him  even. 

"  I  hope  you  get  away,"  said  the  doctor,  waiting  at 
the  door.  "  I  hope  you  get  away  all  right." 

And  it  was  plain  he  wanted  to  talk  as  kind  and  friendly 
as  he  could  now.  "  It's  not  only  what  you've  got  to  do 
for  your  little  girl,  it's  what  you  ought  to  do  for  your 
self.  It  won't  do  you  any  harm,  I  expect,  to  take  a  little 
rest  yourself." 

"  Me,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  me !  What  difference  does  it 
make  about  me?  I'll  have  rest  enough  before  long,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  through,  I'm  done  for." 

And  he  spoke  in  that  old,  dull,  miserable  voice,  like  a 
man  who  is  really  all  through,  and  sees  it.  Like  a  man 
at  the  end  of  a  game,  broken,  cleaned  out. 

Like  a  man  at  the  end  of  a  game,  when  the  lights  are 
down,  and  the  glasses  empty,  and  the  cards  scattered  on 
the  floor.  And  one  last  player  going,  ruined,  done  for. 

And  in  spite  of  myself  I  couldn't  help  but  feel  sorry  for 
him,  stumbling,  crawling  with  his  old  heavy  feet  up  the 
long  dark  stairs,  without  speaking.  Up  the  stairs,  and 
back  again  to  his  Purple  Room. 

I  was  sorry  for  him.  But  I  was  glad  at  the  same  time 
—  too  glad  to  think  of  him  very  long.  Happy  and  ex 
cited,  and  full  of  sudden  hopefulness  after  that  mon 
strous  morning. 

There,  across  the  hall,  upstairs,  lay  Vance,  still  free 


THE  HEADACHE  219 

from  the  Fever,  anyhow.     With  still  a  chance  of  escap 
ing  it. 

And  when  I  thought  of  her  again,  lying  there,  tired  and 
scared,  as  determined  about  staying  till  the  last  one  as 
she  ever  was,  I  could  see  as  plainly  as  anything  in  this 
world,  that  if  we  all  got  out  of  there  alive  without  getting 
that  Fever,  it  was  to  her,  just  only  to  her,  that  we  would 
owe  it  —  her  weakness,  that  aggravating,  obstinate  weak 
ness  that  women  have,  and  use  forever,  as  their  weapon; 
that  weakness  and  obstinacy  that  win  for  women  in  the 
end. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    SONG    IN    THE    STEEET 

VANCE  was  asleep  in  her  room,  peacefully  and 
quietly  sleeping,  thank  God,  and  my  Uncle  was 
in  his  Purple  Room,  where  he  had  gone  right 
after  the  doctor  left,  and  stayed,  only  coming  out  for 
dinner.  And  I  was  there  all  alone,  restless,  worrying, 
trying  to  pass  the  time  away,  that  everlasting  time  be 
fore  we  could  go. 

"  Hurry,  hurry !  "  something  kept  calling  in  me,  now 
that  I  knew  we  were  going.  And  I  knew  just  now  how 
all  those  folks  felt,  those  first  few  days,  running  away  out 
of  town,  with  those  frightened  stares  on  their  faces. 
Were  we  going  to  get  out  soon  enough,  now  that  we  were 
going?  That  was  the  question  continually  before  me. 

For  the  Fever  was  in  back  of  us  now,  like  the  doctor 
had  said ;  back  and  front  and  all  around  us.  And  it  was 
only  reasonable  to  expect  that  that  old  Fever  miasma, 
that  poison,  whatever  it  was,  was  all  around  us  too,  in 
the  air. 

So  I  sat  and  looked  and  twitched  my  fingers  and  waited. 
For  that  was  all  I  could  do  now.  Just  roamed  around 
like  a  homeless  dog.  From  downstairs  to  up,  and  from 
upstairs  down  again  —  tiptoeing  and  worrying. 

I  sat  there  in  the  sitting  room,  finally,  looking  out 
north  again.  They  said  the  whole  town  was  empty  now 

of  white  folks ;  most  all  that  were  left  were  sick ;  and  now 

220 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET 

they  said  they  were  having  trouble  to  find  coffins  enough 
for  all  that  died.  And  the  Dead  Wagons  went  by  creak 
ing  and  groaning.  I  can  hear  them  now,  under  those 
great  toppling  loads  of  coffins.  And  they  said  that  now 
even  the  niggers  were  getting  the  Fever  and  dying  with 
it  like  the  white  folks.  And  there  just  seemed  to  be  no 
end  to  it. 

I  looked  there  quite  a  while,  before  I  noticed  that  there 
was  somebody  else  in  the  house  besides  me  who  was  watch 
ing  and  waiting,  and  expecting  the  Fever. 

Arabella  had  come  in  while  I  was  there,  I  expect  — 
and  stood  over  there  across  the  hall  in  the  Study,  looking 
out  again  down  over  the  hill,  toward  the  city  —  like  she 
had  from  the  first  when  we  were  looking  for  the  Fever ; 
staring  down  the  hill  from  that  same  old  place  in  Mr. 
Bozro's  Study.  My  Uncle  had  gone  and  left  it  entirely, 
and  kept  himself  upstairs  r.g?.m. 

And  by  and  by  the  negress  came  sidling  in  to  me  — 
asking  what  the  doctor  said  about  Vance. 

"  She  ain't  got  it  after  all,  didn't  he  say?  "  she  asked. 

And  though  her  face  was  as  smooth  as  it  always  was, 
her  voice  was  warm  and  friendly.  For  I  knew  she  thought 
the  world  of  Vance. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  she  hasn't." 

"  Then  she  better  be  goin',"  said  Arabella.  "  Better 
be  goin'  quick  as  she  can."  And  there  was  that  same  old 
secrecy  and  mysteriousness  in  her  voice,  and  her  eyes  be 
gan  lighting  up  again  like  a  warning. 

"  Better  be  goin',"  she  said,  "  better  be  goin'.  You 
better  be  goin'  right  off  now ;  they  ain't  no  time  to  spare." 

"  We're  going,"  I  said.  "  Day  after  to-morrow,"  I  told 
her,  when  she  asked  me,  "  When  ?  " 

"  Mighty  late !  "  she  said,  in  that  old  graveyard  voice. 
"  Mighty  iate !  " 


222  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Oh  no,"  I  answered  back,  more  cheerful  than  I  felt. 
"  We  won't  get  it ;  we'll  all  get  out  of  here  before  we  get 
the  Fever." 

"  Fevah !  "  said  the  negress,  in  a  kind  of  warning  voice. 
"  This  ain't  no  Fevah." 

"  What  is  it  then?  "  I  said,  getting  curious  again.  For 
her  mind  was  running  now,  I  could  see  plain  enough,  on 
that  old  religion  of  hers.  And  her  eyes  fired  up,  and  her 
old  smooth  round  face  began  to  light  up  like  a  jack  o' 
lantern. 

"  This  ain't  no  common,  ordinary,  Yellow  Fevah,"  said 
Arabella.  "  You  kin  see  it  if  you  look.  Look  at  'em ! 
Look  how  they  die !  Right  off  —  on  the  street,  without 
warning.  And  some  of  'em's  spotted,  when  they  find  'em 
—  just  all  spotted  like  a  dog.  Yes,  the  niggers  now  are 
having  it  too  —  and  dyin'  just  like  white  folks.  No  suh, 
no  suh,"  she  said,  shaking  her  old  head  in  a  meaning  way, 
"  this  ain't  no  Yeller  Fevah." 

"  What  is  it  then  ?  "  I  went  on  and  asked  her. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  she  said,  rolling  her  old  eyes  at 
me.  "Not  yet?" 

"  No  " ;  I  told  her  that  I  didn't. 

"  It's  the  punishin'  of  God  acomin'  down  on  Memphis," 
she  said  to  me.  "  It's  the  punishment  of  God  af  allin'  on 
this  old  wicked  city  for  its  sins.  It's  the  aind;  it's  the 
aind! 

"  But  you  white  folks  won't  see  it !  "  she  went  along 
warning  me.  "  You  won't  see  it  'tall,  and  eve'y  day  the 
signs  gettin'  thicker'n  thicker  around  you.  Signs  and 
mysteries,  growing  closer  and  closer  eve'y  day ! "  she 
said,  staring  out  behind  me  —  with  eyes  looking  right  on 
by  me. 

And  her  voice  grew  higher  and  louder. 

"  Why,  my  good  Gawd !  "  she  said,  her  voice  still  rising. 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET 

"  It's  here !  It's  right  here  now.  It's  here!  And  yet 
nobody  won't  see  it. 

"  Look  yondah!  "  she  said,  jerking  out  her  arm  to  the 
window.  "  In  just  a  day  or  two  and  you'll  see  it  —  see  it 
coming.  It'll  be  acomin',  acomin*,  acomin',  up  this  road. 
Just  a  few  days  longer,  just  a  few  days  longer  now. 

"  Just  a  few  days  longer,  He'll  be  here,"  she  said  — 
chanting  now,  sort  of  singsong.  And  that  old  peaceful 
smile  spread  out  across  her  great  wide  face  again. 

"  Just  a  day  and  a  day;  just  a  few  days  longer,"  she 
said,  beaming  and  showing  her  white  teeth.  "  Just  a  few 
days  now,  and  He'll  be  acomin'  up  the  street;  and  the 
trumpets  will  be  ablowin',  and  the  clouds  will  be  arisin' ; 
and  the  folks  will  be  acryin',  and  arunnin'  and  awringin' 
they  hands,  and  Memphis  will  be  asinkin'  right  down, 
asinkin',  sinkin',  sinkin'  right  down  into  the  ground. 
Memphis  will  be  destroyed.  Just  all  overcome  and  gone." 

She  was  just  gone,  changed  into  a  wild  savage,  while 
I  stood  looking  at  her ;  a  wild  African,  chanting  low  and 
mysterious,  like  some  old  savage  nigger  on  the  Congo. 

"  And  right  yere,  acomin'  up  the  streets  —  acomin'  up 
the  streets,"  she  said,  pointing,  "  who'll  yuh  see  ?  Who'll 
yuh  see  acomin'?  Right  yere  before  your  eyes.  Him! 
Him!  Him!  He'll  be  comin'— the  Lamb!  The  Lamb 
in  his  white  garment  —  and  the  chayiot  and  his  great 
chayiot. 

"  And  them  great  horses ;  them  great  white  horses, 
comin'  and  acomin'  and  acomin',  adrawin'  him  up  this 
hill !  Acomin'  and  acomin'  and  acomin'  on  —  and  ahol- 
lerin'  Victry !  Victry !  Victry !  Ahollerin'  it  at  the 
top  of  they  voices." 

She  saw  them  coming  there  —  right  up  there  over  the 
hill.  You  could  almost  see  them  for  yourself.  The  black 
angels  blowing  their  trumpets  and  that  black  God  of 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

hers,  and  those  great  white  horses  there  before  him,  com 
ing,  calling  up  over  the  hill. 

The  sweat  stood  out  on  her  face,  and  her  body  grew 
stiff  while  she  was  telling  it ;  and  her  eyes  looked  down  the 
street  —  and  way  out  beyond ;  far  off  —  somewhere  out 
back  of  the  world. 

"  Yassuh,"  she  said,  finally,  wiping  her  wet  mouth  with 
the  back  of  her  hand.  "  Yassuh,  you  goin'  see  it."  Her 
voice  was  hoarse.  "  Yassuh,  yassuh,  you  goin'  see  it 
right  away.  Right  away  if  you  stay  hyah. 

"  Yassuh,  yassuh.  Oh,  you  better  go.  You  better  be 
goin'  and  takin'  her  away,"  she  said,  moving  out  again  to 
her  place  back  out  in  the  kitchen.  And  that  old  smile, 
bright  and  shiny,  on  her  glossy  face. 

I  stood  there  and  watched  her  go,  wondering  for  a  min 
ute  at  what  I'd  seen  —  at  what  a  nigger'll  show  you  when 
they  lift  a  corner  of  the  curtain  over  their  strange  souls. 
And  then  I  turned  again,  looking  out  the  window  — 
thinking  my  own  worries,  and  my  own  thoughts. 

There  was  nothing  much  to  see  that  day  —  some  signs 
they  had  the  Fever  in  some  houses  down  below  there. 
But  nothing  of  the  half-nigger;  nothing  wrong  either,  in 
the  Ventress's  house  across  the  lawn.  One  of  their  own 
niggers  had  been  back  that  day,  and  went  all  through  it, 
looking.  And  there  was  nothing  there. 

I  did  notice  that  old  dog  once  or  twice,  when  I  was  out 
in  the  yard  —  first  when  I  was  doing  my  work  in  the 
morning  —  that  old  dog  lying  there  by  the  door  with  the 
glass  top  that  went  into  the  harness  room  in  the  big  old 
vacant  barn. 

"  He's  got  a  new  place  to  lie,"  I  said  to  myself,  and 
thought  no  more  about  it. 

I  couldn't  see  Vance  at  all  that  day.  She  wasn't  strong 
enough  to  sit  up  yet,  and  what  she  wanted  anyhow,  was 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET  225 

rest.  And  for  that  matter,  I  didn't  plan  to  see  her  any 
way  —  not  after  being  out  and  exposed  myself  to  the 
Fever  that  night  before.  And  so  I  didn't  go  near  her 
door  even,  though  the  Lord  knows  I  wanted  to  see  her  bad 
enough  —  if  only  to  see  how  she  was  looking. 

So  there  wasn't  much  that  day.  I  slept  a  little  myself, 
late  that  afternoon.  I  was  tired  enough  to,  after  that 
night  before. 

Then  my  Uncle  and  I  ate  supper  together,  talking  a 
little  of  Vance,  and  of  the  Fever,  and  of  our  plans  for 
going  away.  He  was  going  to  take  us  up  back  into  the 
hills  —  around  our  old  country,  toward  the  middle  of  the 
state. 

But  my  Uncle  Athiel  didn't  want  to  talk.  His  head 
was  down;  and  his  eyes  were  down.  And  he  kept  that 
general  listless  look  and  motion  of  a  man  who  has  lost 
the  game,  and  doesn't  care  about  anything  any  more  — 
all  broken. 

He  didn't  even  want  to  talk  to  me  much  —  not  even 
about  watching  the  house  that  night. 

"  He  won't  want  to  come  back  again,  not  right  away," 
he  said.  "  We  scared  that  nigger  too  bad !  " 

But  I  wasn't  so  certain  sure  as  all  that  —  though  I 
thought  likely  he  was  right.  But  it  looked  to  me  as  if 
I'd  better  stay  up  and  watch  a  little. 

And  so  evening  went,  and  night  came  again;  I  sat  up 
there  in  my  old  Red  Room  bed-chamber,  looking  out,  and 
wondering  whether,  after  all,  we  were  going  to  get  away 
—  and  worrying  and  fretting  over  Vance. 

The  town  was  all  changed  —  even  the  sounds  at  night ; 
and  that  night,  with  the  niggers  quiet  and  so  many  of  the 
alley  dogs  got  rid  of,  there  was  scarcely  any  noise  any 
where.  The  bell  they  used  to  ring  every  night,  those 
days,  was  still;  the  wheels  were  gone  from  the  streets; 


226  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

you  heard  no  more  drunken  men  go  calling  home  —  noth 
ing,  only  the  little  mule  car,  underneath  the  hill,  going 
tinkling  by  every  half  hour,  regular  as  a  clock. 

I  did  not  feel  sleepy  any.  I  was  nervous,  I  expect; 
and  I  had  slept  just  about  enough  that  afternoon  to  take 
away  my  appetite  for  sleep,  but  I  laid  down  at  last  with 
my  clothes  on,  just  to  rest  myself.  And  then  for  a  min 
ute  or  so  I  must  have  fallen  asleep. 

It  couldn't  have  been  long,  though,  a  few  minutes, 
maybe,  for  then  I  was  waked  up  right  away  by  that  song 
on  the  street. 

I  sat  up  listening.  I  hadn't  heard  for  a  number  of 
nights  that  old  sound  of  a  drunken  man  going  singing 
home  in  the  night. 

It  was  right  out  there  in  our  own  street,  I  noticed  — 
coming  slowly  up  the  hill.  It  sounded  strange  and  silly 
and  drunk.  Then  after  a  while  I  noticed  the  tune  that 
he  was  singing.  It  was  that  funny  old  nursery  song  they 
used  to  sing  to  the  babies  —  something  about  the  "  Fly 
on  the  Wall "  our  words  used  to  be.  But  really  it's  a 
German  song,  it  seems  —  an  old  German  song.  The 
Germans  call  it,  they  tell  me,  "  Du  Lieber  Augustin  " — 
a  simply,  silly,  wearisome  old  song,  going  over  and  over 
again. 

I  listened  —  and  I  didn't  understand  the  words  at  all, 
hard  as  I  tried.  And  the  reason  was,  naturally,  that 
he  was  singing  them  in  German.  I  could  hear  the  foot 
steps  of  the  man,  unsteady. 

It  was  very  still. 

Then  there  were  other  steps,  I  noticed  —  the  steps 
of  a  heavier  man ;  and  all  at  once  there  was  a  kind  of 
scuffle  of  feet  on  the  walk  in  front  of  us  —  like  two  men 
struggling.  I  got  up  to  the  window,  and  stood  listen 
ing. 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET  227 

Then  suddenly,  while  I  stood  there,  I  heard  that  door 
bell  go  —  Jangle,  jangle,  jangle,  in  the  cellarway. 

There  was  some  one  there  this  time  —  that  was  cer 
tain  !  I  grabbed  the  first  thing  that  I  had  —  an  old  spoke 
of  a  cartwheel  it  was,  I'd  got  in  my  own  room,  weeks  ago, 
when  my  Uncle  first  was  talking  of  thieves  and  robbers. 

And  I  started  out  and  crept  and  crawled  downstairs,  as 
fast  as  I  could  go,  and  still  keep  quiet.  There  was  a  dim 
light  in  the  upper  hallway.  We  were  keeping  it  there 
while  Vance  was  sick.  But  not  one  sound  from  my  Uncle's 
room.  He  hadn't  heard  a  thing.  He  wouldn't;  he  was 
too  deaf. 

I  slunk  and  crept  down  the  black  stairway,  and  hugged 
the  smooth  paper  on  the  wall.  Lord,  it  was  dark  there ! 
Only  the  light  from  the  street  lamp  through  the  ground 
glass  on  the  front  door,  and  that  dim  light  above. 

But  this  time,  I  said  to  myself,  this  time  I'd  show  them ! 
This  time,  if  there  was  anybody  there! 

I  listened  then  by  the  outside  door.  I  stopped  and 
listened.  I  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  the  knob  of  the 
door  —  turned  it  quick  as  I  could  turn,  and  jumped  out, 
saying : 

"  Now,  damn  you !  " 

And  it  was  only  old  John  McCallan,  the  policeman, 
standing  there  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  house, 
begging  my  pardon,  and  holding  up  another  man,  rolling 
and  babbling  in  his  arms. 

I  looked,  and  it  was  that  little  German  grocer,  down 
below  —  that  man  who  had  the  Fever  —  half-dressed  — 
in  shoes  and  trousers  and  his  night-shirt;  and  that  old 
German  song  still  going  feebly  on  his  lips. 

"  You'll  excuse  me  for  disturbing  you,  Mr.  Beavis," 
said  John,  "  but  I  got  to  get  this  poor  Dutchman  home. 
He's  out  here  wanderin' —  crazy  with  the  Fever." 


228  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

There  it  was  finally,  the  Fever  come  up  to  our  own 
door. 

"  I'll  help  you.  Let  me  help  you,"  I  said,  like  a  fool, 
laying  down  my  old  cartwheel  spoke  and  going  toward 
him. 

"  Stand  away  from  him,"  said  John.  "  Don't  touch 
him.  I  don't  need  you  to  do  that ;  one's  enough !  " 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  then  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  The  naygur  nurse  they  gave  him  has  gone  asleep,  I  ex 
pect,"  said  John.  "  That's  what's  happened,  and  he  has 
run  away.  And  you  can  run  down  now,  if  you  want  to, 
and  wake  the  naygur  up,  and  have  him  come  and  help 
me  get  this  poor  feller  home." 

So  then  I  ran  along  down  and  hammered  on  the  door, 
and  woke  the  nigger.  And  he  stuck  out  his  head  above 
me  and  told  me  he'd  come. 

There  was  a  lot  of  talk  about  the  nigger  nurses  in  that 
Fever  time,  I  want  to  say.  And  a  lot  of  it  wrong  and 
mean  and  ungrateful.  They  were  pretty  mighty  faith 
ful,  a  good  lot  of  them.  But  the  great  trouble  they  did 
have  with  them,  really,  was  keeping  them  awake  nights 
to  watch  the  folks  that  they  were  nursing. 

So  after  that  I  ran  back  again  to  where  old  John  stood 
waiting,  with  the  little  German,  where  he  had  him  lying 
there  propped  up  now  against  our  stone  terrace  wall. 

"  Poor  feller,"  said  John,  looking  down  at  him,  and  I 
standing  off  away.  "  Poor  feller,  this  will  finish  him, 
pretty  likely.  They  get  loose  every  now  and  then,  and 
run  out  like  this  —  when  they  get  wrong  in  their  heads. 
And  every  time,  most,  it  kills  them. 

"  You've  got  to  lie  still,"  he  said,  "  with  this  Fever. 
If  you  move  around  too  much  it  kills  you.  Sometimes 
they  run  off,  away,  like  this,  and  crawl  off  in  some  place 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET 

and  die.  They  found  a  number  of  them  this  last  week, 
down  there  in  the  business  blocks." 

I  turned.  It  seemed  to  me,  while  I  stood  there,  I  heard 
some  one  calling  me. 

"  Poor  feller,"  said  John.  "  And  he  thought  he 
wouldn't  have  it.  He'd  had  it  once  before." 

The  nigger  nurse  was  coming  now,  scared,  running  up 
the  street. 

"  This  ain't  no  regular  Fever,"  said  John.  "  I've  seen 
the  Yellow  Fever  now,  for  years.  It  never  acted  like  this 
before.  The  naygurs  are  all  getting  it  now ;  and  all  the 
folks  that  had  it  once  before.  That's  new.  And  those 
that  had  it  die  right  off  —  a  lot  of  them.  I've  seen  thim 
—  just  right  off  after  they  get  it.  I  never  seen  it  come 
like  that  before.  No,  sor,"  said  John  McCallan,  "  no, 
sor ;  it  ain't  natural  for  the  Yellow  Fever. 

"  No,  sor,"  said  John,  shaking  his  old  head.  "  No,  sor; 
I'm  telling  you  this  ain't  no  ordinary  Fever.  And  those 
that  can,"  he  said,  "  will  be  watching  to  get  out  now. 
For  it's  my  opinion,  it's  my  opinion,"  said  John  McCal 
lan,  "  that  all  of  us  that  stays  are  goin'  to  die." 

"  I  don't  see  you  going  out,"  I  said. 

"  I  can't,"  said  John.     "  How  could  I  on  my  job?  " 

"  There's  others  have,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  and  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you  that  they  have,"  said 
John. 

The  nigger  was  there  now;  and  I  stood  for  a  minute, 
watching  them  lift  up  the  silent  little  bundle  of  man. 

It  was  all  just  like  me.  From  first  to  last  I  was  so  ex 
cited  —  first  by  that  bell  —  and  then  afterwards  doing 
what  I  had  to  do  outside  —  I  hadn't  thought,  or  consid 
ered  or  remembered  one  thing  —  about  that  old  poison 
night  air  we  all  were  standing  in. 


230  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  just  when  it  first  struck  me  —  just  when  I  thought 
about  it,  standing  there,  I  certainly  thought  again  I 
heard  my  name  whispered  there  behind  me. 

"  Good-night,"  I  said  to  John.  I  stepped  inside  and 
closed  the  door.  And  stood  there  in  that  pallid  light 
that  came  in  there  through  that  old  ground  glass  window 
in  the  door. 

And  there  —  a  white  figure  swaying  forward,  face 
against  the  door-frame,  stood  Vance. 

"Hullo,  what's  this?  Vance?"  I  called,  surprised. 
"  What  are  you  down  here  for?  " 

But  she  didn't  answer. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  said,  taking  her  by  her  shoulder.  She 
had  thrown  —  she  had  just  thrown  that  white  shawl  of 
her  mother's,  that  great  long  white  India  shawl,  over  her 
night  clothes,  and  come  running  down. 

"  You  wouldn't  come !  "  she  whispered,  not  answering 
me.  "  You  wouldn't  come !  You  just  stood  there,  in  that 
poison  night  air !  " 

I  shrank  back  from  her,  right  away  then,  thinking 
where  I  had  been. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  "  you've  got  to  go  back  to  bed.  How 
did  you  come  here  anyway?  " 

"The  bell!"  she  said.     "I  heard  the  bell!" 

She  swayed  a  little.  I  could  see  her  plainer  now  — 
my  eyes  accustomed  to  the  dim  light.  She  swayed  —  I 
thought  that  she  would  faint  and  fall ;  and  I  caught  her  — 
though  scared  to  —  fearful  of  God  knows  what  exposure 
I  might  have  brought  to  her  from  outdoors  there. 

I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  held  her,  shuddering. 
She  hadn't  fainted  though ;  she  was  still  conscious. 

"  Oh,  how  lonely  I've  been,"  she  whispered,  "  how 
lonely."  And  I  thought  now  she  was  growing  light  in  her 
head,  light  and  flighty. 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET 

"  And  you  wouldn't  come !  You  wouldn't  come,  when 
I  called  you,  Beavis !  " 

Her  arms  reached  unsteadily  to  my  shoulder,  and  she 
kept  on  talking  in  a  whisper. 

And  longing  and  anxiousness  and  that  continual  fear 
that  never  left  me  now;  the  fear  that  I  would  lose  her 
after  all  —  swept  over  me.  And  I  held  her  closer,  when 
it  overtook  me. 

"  You  wouldn't  come,"  she  said,  shuddering  slightly, 
once  again,  "  all  day  —  all  day  —  And  now  you  wouldn't 
come  when  I  called  you.  You  don't  care  —  you  didn't 
care.  You  didn't  care  for  me !  " 

"  Care  for  you !  "  I  said,  and  choked. 

"  You  didn't  come,"  she  repeated  —  weak  and  a  little 
feverish,  I  expect.  "  You  didn't  care !  " 

And  when  she  said  it  over  a  second  time  —  I  was  out  of 
my  own  control  —  out  of  my  mind,  I  expect,  too  —  for 
happiness  and  fear,  all  mixed  together;  and  dread  of 
what,  in  spite  of  me,  might  be  about  to  happen  to  her; 
to  take  her  away  from  me  forever. 

It  was  like  we  were  the  last  two  folks,  somehow,  in  all 
the  world.  Just  standing  there  in  that  dim  hall;  that 
black  house  behind  us.  Like  all  the  rest  were  dead  —  and 
that  damned  Fever  outside  there,  crawling,  crawling, 
crawling  to  the  door  to  get  her  from  me  —  take  her  out 
from  my  arms  forever. 

"  Care !  "  I  said.  "  Care  for  you !  "  I  said  again. 
"  God  Almighty,  Vance,  I'd  tear  down  the  sunset  and  bring 
it  to  you  for  a  gown  if  you  asked  me  to." 

I  was  only  twenty-one,  just  a  boy.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  like  we  just  stood  there  in  the  dark  —  defying  Death 
and  Time  and  the  universe  together. 

And  when  I  spoke,  I  felt  her  little  body  soften  and 
relax  in  my  arms,  like  a  tired  little  child  at  bedtime. 


232  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

I  took  her  bodily  in  my  arms  then,  and  started  up  the 
stairs,  for  I  saw  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  now  to 
climb  them.  And  I  thought,  too  late,  what  it  had  meant 
for  her  —  the  strain,  the  exposure  of  that  trip  of  hers 
down  after  me  in  the  dark. 

I  took  her  up  in  my  arms  and  carried  her  upstairs,  like 
carrying  nothing  at  all.  Her  lax,  childish  body  —  slender 
and  young  and  soft  in  the  folds  of  that  soft  old  India 
shawl,  weighed  like  nothing  in  my  arms.  She  lay  against 
me,  like  a  sleepy  child ;  and  as  I  passed  up  toward  the  dim 
gas  light  in  the  upper  hall,  she  raised  her  light  hand  to 
my  face  with  an  uncertain  gesture,  and  drew  it  down  and 
her  deep  dark  eyes  looked  up  at  me,  close  into  mine.  And 
I  went  up  that  old  long  staircase  carrying  her,  watching 
her  and  wondering  in  my  heart  if  now  —  now  that  I  had 
her  there,  I  might  lose  her,  right  away  —  forever,  from 
that  Death  that  lay  waiting  outside  there  all  around  us. 

We'd  reached  the  top  of  the  long  stairs  almost,  my 
face  down  watching  her,  when  I  started  and  looked  up. 
There  above  us,  waiting,  stood  my  Uncle  Athiel,  staring 
down.  There  was  not  a  word  from  him,  not  a  question. 

"  Give  her  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse  old  voice  and 
took  her  from  me. 

He  took  her  from  me  —  lame,  old,  scarcely  able,  he 
looked  like,  to  hold  himself  upright  —  he  took  her  from 
me  into  his  arms,  and  some  way  went  on  carrying  her 
down  the  dim  hall  to  the  Ivory  Room. 

"  Good-night,"  I  told  her,  before  I  gave  her  up  to  him, 
and  kissed  her. 

I'm  sure  she  told  him  as  he  was  carrying  her.  I  could 
see  her  whispering  in  his  ear.  I  waited.  He  came  back 
very  soon. 

"  Will  she  be  all  right  now?  "  I  said,  and  looked  him  in 
the  eyes.  "  Will  there  be  anything  we  can  do?  " 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  STREET 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  she  had  scarcely  touched  the  pillow 
before  she  was  sleeping." 

We  said  no  more.  He  made  no  talk  of  blame  or  com 
ment.  But  the  strength  and  vigor  that  had  come  to  him 
when  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  down  the 
hall  from  me,  was  gone  again. 

He  looked  again  like  an  old,  old  man. 

I  must  have  gotten  asleep  again  finally,  sometime  —  a 
thin,  miserable,  restless  sleep,  for  I  woke  up  with  a  jerk 
and  said  to  myself :  "  I  must  have  been  dreaming  it  all 
over  again,  or  I'm  crazy  maybe !  "  For  I  had  the  im 
pression  I  had  heard  that  bell  again  —  one  of  those  bells 
downstairs  in  the  cellarway  jangling. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    IVORY    ROOM 

I  WOKE  up ;  the  sun  shone  in,  a  little  narrow  yellow 
wedge  upon  my  carpet;  I  woke  up  and  jumped  out 
of  bed,  and  started  out  on  that  last  day,  the  last 
everlasting  day,  before  we  finally  were  to  go.  I  had  over 
slept;  that  late  dead  sleep  that  comes  at  the  end  of  a 
sleepless  night  had  been  too  much  for  me. 

I  looked  out  the  window  while  I  was  dressing  me,  down 
to  the  Fever  house,  where  the  little  German  was,  over  the 
closed  grocery  store,  and  wondered  about  him  —  if  he 
was  living  still.  And  I  noticed  then,  out  my  back  win 
dow,  that  the  old  dog  was  still  there,  lying  there  in  front 
of  the  harness  room  of  the  great  closed  barn. 

"  This  will  be  the  second  day,"  I  said  to  myself,  won 
dering  a  minute,  "  that  he's  been  lying  around  out  there." 
Then  right  away  it  passed  out  of  my  mind  when  I  went 
downstairs.  For  the  first  thing  naturally,  was  Vance. 
How  was  she?  When  could  I  get  to  see  her?  And  I  tip 
toed  by  her  silent  room  and  on  downstairs,  hoping  and 
fearing. 

My  Uncle  was  down  below  at  the  breakfast  table,  and 
said  that  earlier  he  had  looked  in  and  she  was  sleeping 
peacefully,  breathing  soft  and  regular  as  a  child. 

I  thought,  maybe,  he  would  say  something  more  —  after 
that  night  before  —  when  we  sat  down  to  breakfast  there 

alone  together.     But  not  a  word  came  out  of  him,  and 

234 


THE  IVORY  ROOM  235 

I  couldn't  speak  myself,  though  I  tried  to  several  times. 
But  for  that  matter  my  Uncle  didn't  look  like  he  cared 
to  hear  me  talk.  He  sat,  downcast,  looking  at  his  plate, 
stiller  and  bluer  and  more  motionless  than  I  had  even  seen 
him,  in  any  of  those  blue  days  of  his  when  he  talked  about 
the  poorhouse.  And  so  I  waited  and  waited,  till  the  doc 
tor  came  —  anxious  to  know  just  what  he  would  say  when 
he  knew  of  everything  —  especially  when  he  heard  of  that 
great  thing  that  had  been  chasing  me  awake  all  night  — 
the  fear  that  I  certainly  must  have  exposed  Vance  to  the 
Fever  —  on  that  night  before. 

And  meanwhile  I  went  out  —  late  —  and  fed  old  Dolly, 
who  was  stamping  to  be  attended  to.  And  then  again  I 
saw  that  old  dog  there  in  front  of  the  big  barn.  He 
still  lay  there,  curled  up  on  the  top  step  of  the  door  into 
the  harness  room.  He  raised  his  head  when  I  came  along 
and  looked  at  me  out  of  his  little  bloodshot  eyes,  under  his 
old  eyebrows,  and  laid  his  head  down  again  on  his  paws 
when  I  went  along  by. 

I  didn't  stop  going,  for  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  attend  to 
the  horse;  and  coming  back  I  went  right  by  him,  for  I 
heard  the  sound  of  the  doctor  coming  whistling  in  the 
front  yard.  I  saw  him  right  away  as  soon  as  he  came 
into  the  house,  and  I  told  him  what  I'd  done  that  night 
before  —  about  being  out  there  with  that  German. 

"  Ah-ha,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  heard  of  that.  So  you 
were  the  fellow?  " 

"How  is  he?"  I  asked.  For  I  knew  the  doctor  had 
him. 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Dr.  Greathouse. 

Then  I  stopped  for  a  minute,  like  you  do  when  any 
body  says  that  about  somebody  you've  just  seen  moving 
around,  and  heard  talking. 

"  Dead !"  I  said.     "  Then  they're  all  dead?     It's  got 


236  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

the  entire  family?  "  And  I  saw  them  while  I  was  saying 
it  —  all  those  little  white  headed  youngsters,  and  the  lit 
tle  fat  man  that  used  to  stand  there  serving  us  behind  the 
counter  in  his  long  checked  apron. 

"  All  but  the  mother,"  said  the  doctor.  "  That's  not 
the  only  case,"  he  said,  "  there's  plenty  of  families,  poor 
folks  especially,  that  are  going  that  way  —  after  the 
Fever  once  gets  into  the  house." 

And  I  caught  my  breath  then,  and  went  on,  hurrying, 
telling  him  about  what  was  bothering  me  all  night  long  — 
about  Vance,  and  the  danger  I  had  exposed  her  to  —  the 
Fever,  when  I  first  got  in  the  house.  I  didn't  tell  him 
everything,  naturally.  I  just  told  him  I  had  found  her 
there  in  the  hall  way  when  I  came  in;  and  helped  her  up 
the  stairs. 

"  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that  yet,"  he  said.  "  You 
can't  give  it  to  anybody,  I  believe,  till  you've  got  it  your 
self." 

That  was  some  encouragement. 

"  But  the  real  thing  is,"  he  said,  "  to  see  how  she  stood 
it  all  herself  —  the  coming  downstairs,  the  excitement. 
That's  what  ails  her  anyhow  —  what's  on  her  mind.  Her 
imagination  always  was  bigger  than  her  body  —  from  the 
first  day  that  she  talked." 

He  went  upstairs,  and  into  the  Ivory  Room,  and,  wait 
ing  just  a  minute  or  two,  I  heard  him  laughing,  and  I 
heard  her  laughing  too,  with  her  voice  back  again,  quite 
a  little,  quite  clear  and  high,  but  not  exactly  strong  yet. 
And  after  a  while  he  called  me. 

"  You  can  come  in  a  minute,"  and  in  a  second  or  two 
more  Vance's  eyes  were  shining  into  mine. 

"  You  can't  understand  'em,"  said  the  doctor  laughing. 
"  Nobody  ever  understood  a  woman.  The  first  thing 
they're  away  down  from  something  you  don't  know  any- 


THE  IVORY  ROOM  237 

thing  about,  and  the  next,  they're  back,  higher  than  ever, 
on  account  of  something  they  won't  tell  you." 

And  Vance's  eyes  turned  and  looked  out  the  window, 
and  I  grinned  a  little  —  and  stopped  when  my  eyes  caught 
my  Uncle's  looking  up  dull  and  tired  into  mine  —  and 
turning  right  back  again,  looking  out  the  window. 

"  I'm  well,  well,"  said  Vance,  in  a  minute,  her  eyes  shin 
ing  back  at  me  again.  "  I'm  well."  And  some  way, 
though  it  wasn't  strong  yet,  I  hadn't  heard  her  voice  so 
clear  and  hopeful,  not  for  weeks. 

"  And  to-morrow  we'll  be  going !  "  she  said,  looking 
toward  her  father. 

"Praise  God.  Hallelujah!"  I  said  quickly.  But  my 
Uncle  said  nothing,  standing  where  he  had  gone,  over  by 
the  window  looking  out. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  up,"  said  Vance. 

"  Later,  if  she  sleeps,  perhaps,"  said  the  doctor,  to  my 
Uncle.  And  he  nodded  that  he  understood. 

"  And  now,"  the  doctor  said  to  Vance,  "  you're  going 
to  sleep." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Vance,  "  we're  going  to-morrow ! 
And  this  afternoon  I'll  be  up !  " 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But  now  you'll  just  pull 
down  your  shades  and  rest." 

And  so  he  put  them  down  and  we  went  along  out. 

"  It  is  wonderful  how  she's  changed,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  but  let  her  rest  all  she  can."  And  he  went  on  talking 
then  about  our  leaving  town. 

"  I've  got  it  all  fixed  up  so  you  can  go,"  he  said.  "  And 
you're  not  getting  out  of  here  any  too  quick. 

"  There  were  three  deaths  down  that  street  below,"  he 
said,  "  two  besides  the  little  German  grocer.  And  one 
in  back  of  us  in  the  alley  on  the  next  block,  a  nigger. 
And  one  in  the  side  street. 


238  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  It's  all  around  you,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  It's  in  the  air,"  my  Uncle  Hagar  answered  him. 
"  The  air's  aU  full  of  Fever." 

But  he  talked  dull  and  listless,  even  about  that  —  not 
excited  a  bit;  like  a  man  who  doesn't  care  what  happens 
to  him  next. 

It  was  all  fixed,  it  seemed,  so  that  the  doctor  would 
come  around  occasionally  and  keep  his  eye  on  the  house 
when  we  went.  And  I  was  to  talk  to  John  McCallan  and 
let  him  have  the  key  to  it.  There  was  some  of  those  that 
stayed  on  through  the  Fever  —  and  he  was  one  of  them 
—  that  had  more  than  a  hundred  keys  given  them  of  stores 
and  houses. 

And  then,  when  he  had  told  me  that,  my  Uncle  went 
upstairs  and  stayed  there,  to  be  near  Vance,  he  said. 

But  before  he  went  away  he  spoke  to  me  for  the  first 
time,  about  her  and  myself. 

"  I  expect,"  he  said,  "  you'll  think,  before  long,  you'll 
want  to  marry  her?  " 

He  talked  in  a  dull,  dreary  kind  of  voice,  and  looked 
at  me  once,  and  turned  his  eyes  down  again.  But  I  was 
glad  anyhow,  that  he  didn't  fight  it. 

I  didn't  know  exactly  what  he  would  do,  for  naturally, 
he  knew  I  didn't  have  a  dollar. 

"  As  soon  as  I  get  the  money  to,"  I  said. 

"  Money,"  said  my  Uncle,  like  a  dead  old  echo. 
"  That's  it." 

And  my  heart  went  down  in  my  boots  again,  when  he 
went  upstairs  —  but  not  for  very  long. 

It  wasn't  very  long  before  he  called  to  me  to  come  up 
there.  "  Your  cousin,  Vance,"  he  said,  and  he  hitched  a 
little  on  the  "  cousin,"  "  wants  to  see  you ;  she's  up  and 
dressed  and  wants  to  see  you.  I  expect  that  you  can  go 
in  there  for  a  little  while." 


THE  IVORY  ROOM  239 

So  I  stopped,  a  breath  or  two,  outside  the  door  of  the 
Ivory  Room;  and  knocked  and  went  in. 

It  was  a  big  high  place  —  very  pale  and  delicate  col 
ored  —  ivory  and  palish  blue  and  pink.  Mr.  Bozro  had 
built  it  for  his  wife  when  they  thought  they  were  so  rich. 
A  tall,  lean  woman,  they  said,  with  a  leathery,  coppery 
skin,  and  wonderful  diamonds. 

And  all  the  woodwork  of  the  room  was  ivory,  and  all 
the  stuff  on  the  white  bureau  for  her  hands  and  hair  was 
real  ivory.  And  the  furniture  was  French,  ivory-colored 
too  —  like  in  some  of  those  great  houses  they  had  seen 
abroad.  And  overhead  pink  cherubs,  with  ivory  ribbon 
streamers  from  their  waists,  played  with  ropes  of  roses  — 
dull  pink  roses  against  a  pale  blue  sky. 

Vance  was  there,  on  a  satin  sofa  —  a  kind  of  long 
French  sofa,  with  a  pillow  back  of  her;  in  some  creamy 
kind  of  dress ;  some  fluffy  ivory-colored  lace  thing.  But 
I  was  noticing  most  her  eyes  and  hair  —  black  against 
the  whiteness.  And  her  eyes.  But  I  saw  her  eyes  just 
only  for  a  second. 

"  Vance,"  I  whispered,  on  my  knees  beside  the  sofa. 
"  Vance,  why  don't  you  look  at  me  ?  " 

"  I'm  ashamed,"  she  whispered  back. 

"  Ashamed  ?  "  I  asked  her.  And  with  a  quick  motion, 
she  hid  her  face  upon  my  shoulder. 

"  Ashamed? "  I  asked  her  again,  after  our  silence. 
"  Of  what?  "  and  turned  her  face  where  I  could  see  it. 

"  Last  night,"  she  said,  "  last  night,  last  night." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Vance,  again.  Never  again,"  I  told 
her.  And  we  were  still  again.  Until  once  more  I  felt 
her  shuddering  —  that  nervous  shuddering  that  I  feared 
passed  over  her  again. 

"  What !  "  I  said  sharply  to  her.     "  Not  that  again !  " 

"  I  was  so  lonely,"  she  whispered,  and  stopped. 


240  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

I  waited. 

"  That  day,"  she  went  along,  "  that  awful  day  that 
woman  laughed  so !  " 

I  could  see  her  —  when  she  said  it  —  I  could  see  her 
there  in  her  room  alone,  not  understanding;  and  Death 
screaming  down  there  underneath  her  windows;  watch 
ing  it  all  day  and  night  with  those  great  eyes  of  hers  — 
and  filling  out  and  peopling  the  darkness,  and  all  she 
didn't  understand,  with  her  imagination  —  that  restless 
imagination  of  hers. 

"  That  day,"  she  said,  "  you  didn't  speak  to  me !  " 

I  begged  for  her  forgiveness  then  —  what  I  could  — 
for  the  share  I  had  in  it.  "  I  don't  understand  it  now," 
she  said  — "  all  that  row  and  shooting !  " 

And  I  told  her  what  I  knew  —  about  that  half -nigger. 

"  It  was  a  thousand  years,"  she  said,  "  that  day,  and 
those  two  nights.  I  feel  a  thousand  years  old,  at  least. 
And  that  night  —  that  night  you  shot !  And  that  pistol 
smoke  in  the  hall !  My  father !  " 

She  stopped. 

And  all  at  once  I  knew  that  old  shuddering  had  caught 
her  again. 

"  I  won't,"  she  said,  when  I  spoke  sharply  to  her.  "  I 
won't  again.  But  it  seemed  to  me  I  could  see  him,"  she 
went  on  —  as  if  she  couldn't  stop.  "  It  seemed  to  me  I 
could  see  his  face  just  the  same  —  and  his  hand,  just 
like—" 

"  That  dream?  "  I  said. 

She  nodded  and  was  still. 

"  And  now,"  I  said,  "  you've  got  to  tell  me  about  it  — 
you've  got  to  tell  me  about  that  old  crazy  dream." 

She  wouldn't  tell  at  first ;  but  I  teased  her  and  teased 
her  —  and  told  her  it  would  be  better  to  tell  me  —  better 
for  her. 


THE  IVORY  ROOM  241 

"  They  say  if  you  share  a  thing  like  that,  it's  easier 
for  you.  If  two  can  carry  a  secret,"  I  said,  "  with  less 
worry  than  one  can,  maybe  they  can  a  dream." 

And  I  smiled  and  laughed  at  her  and  encouraged  her, 
until  finally  she  told  me  of  that  wild  dream  of  hers  — 
drawing  away  from  me,  back  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa; 
and  sending  her  eyes  far  off  behind  me  in  the  distance. 
And  talking  —  after  a  while  —  in  that  still,  hushed  voice 
of  hers  —  that  still  secret  voice  the  children  tell  each 
other  those  old  nigger  ghost  stories,  as  the  winter  night 
comes  on. 

"  It  seemed  to  me,"  she  started  —  lying  very  still  and 
whispering,  almost  — "  like  we  were  all  in  this  great  place 
that  I  was  never  in  before.  All  three  of  us  in  this  place, 
in  danger  like  we  are  here  — "  she  said,  and  stopped. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to,"  she  said.  "  I  know  you'll  say 
it's  just  plain  silly." 

"  Go  ahead,"  I  said. 

"  And  outside,"  she  went  along  then,  stretching  out 
her  hand,  "  outside,  I  thought  there  was  something  there. 
Something  there  —  we  wanted  to  get  away  from  —  and 
couldn't. 

"  Smoke,"  she  said  suddenly.  "  I  thought  it  was  just 
something  hiding  inside  a  lot  of  smoke.  You  couldn't  see 
it.  You  didn't  know  what  it  was. 

"  And  I  thought  we'd  go  to  the  window  and  we'd  try 
to  get  out  —  and  try  and  try !  But  there  was  something 
there,  invisible,  something  monstrous. 

"  And  when  we  got  there  —  to  the  doors  and  windows 
—  we  couldn't  get  out,  it  wouldn't  let  us !  I  don't  know 
why,  but  we  couldn't.  We  were  afraid,  afraid  of  that 
thing,  that  thing  there  in  the  smoke. 

"  And  so  we  sat  there,  and  sat  there,  and  sat  there. 
And  by  and  by,"  she  said,  and  smiled,  a  quick  little  ex- 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

cusing  smile  and  moved  restlessly,  "  you  know  how  it  is 
in  dreams  • —  it  seemed  like  all  at  once  we  were  back  here 
in  this  house. 

"  And  Clang !  something  went  shut,  and  a  nigger's 
voice,  a  great  thick  voice  like  a  nigger  saying :  *  There ! 
You  stay  there  till  I  come  and  get  you ! ' 

"  And  outside  there,  I  thought,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
growing  deeper  and  her  body  tense.  "  Outside  it  was  all 
smoke  now.  All  around  us  in  a  ring.  Only  nearer  now! 
Only  a  lot  nearer !  And  my  father  and  you  were  walking 
up  and  down,  walking  up  and  down !  But  we  couldn't  get 
out.  For  it  was  still  there  —  only  nearer." 

Her  voice  grew  lower  and  shakier,  and  she  caught  up 
her  knees  to  her,  and  sat  there,  her  great  eyes  staring  out 
just  like  a  scared  child,  just  like  those  children  telling 
stories  in  the  dark.  I  shivered,  just  a  little  myself,  sit 
ting  there.  I  couldn't  help  it. 

"  It  came  and  came  and  came,"  she  said.  "  And  it  was 
all  around  us.  Smoke !  And  all  at  once  one  of  the  win 
dows  —  for  we'd  had  them  all  closed  —  like  we  do  here ; 
all  of  a  sudden  this  window  swung  back  very  slowly.  Oh, 
so  monstrous  slow  —  a  whole  lifetime.  And  the  smoke 
poured  in!  And  then  all  at  once  I  heard  this  dreadful 
cry,  my  father !  Right  back  of  me  crying  —  dreadful : 

"  « It's  got  me !     It's  got  me ! ' 

"  And  there  he  was !  There  he  was !  There  he  was !  " 
she  said. 

And  stopped,  panting  —  pushing  both  her  hands  away 
from  her  face,  her  fingers  spread  out  stiff;  and  her  face 
drained  white,  with  her  deep  eyes  staring  at  me. 

"  Quit  it,  Vance,"  I  said,  "  quit  it!  " 

For  I  saw  she  shouldn't  be  doing  that  again. 

"  But  I  heard  him.  I  heard  him  say  it  just  as  plain 
as  I  hear  you,"  she  said. 


THE  IVORY  ROOM 

"  Why  shouldn't  you?  "  I  said,  "  after  this  —  all  this. 
All  this  worry." 

"  Oh,  I  know  it's  wrong  —  foolish,"  she  said. 

"But  I  saw  him.  I  saw  him  there  —  just  like  I  see 
you.  I  saw  him  lying  there  on  his  face.  I  went  over 
where  he  was  —  and  he  was  lying  there  on  his  face  —  and 
his  hand  —  his  hand  was  under  his  head  —  so.  His 
hand  — " 

"  Vance,"  I  said,  getting  up  on  my  feet,  and  standing 
over  her.  "  Vance,  will  you  stop  this !  " 

For  she  was  shuddering  miserably  through  her  whole 
body ;  shuddering  and  sitting  up,  and  staring  down  — 
as  if  she  saw  him  there,  right  there  before  her  on  the 
floor. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  stopped  right  away. 

"  Anybody'd  think  you  were  crazy,"  I  said,  for  I 
thought  I  had  to  talk  her  out  of  it. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  said.     "  I  will.     I'll  stop." 

And  I,  kneeling  down  beside  her  —  she  took  me  and 
clasped  me,  and  clung  to  me,  like  a  child  afraid  of  the 
dark. 

And  outside,  while  we  sat  there,  I  thought  I  heard  — 
I  certainly  did  hear,  the  "  creak,  creak,  creak,"  of  that 
damned  Dead  Wagon,  go  by  our  windows. 

And  after  a  while  —  after  a  long  while,  she  said :  "  It 
was  a  good  deal  better  to  tell  you." 

"  I  believe  so,"  I  said,  pushing  back  her  hair,  and  com 
forting  her,  like  a  child  —  just  like  you  would  a  child. 

"  I  won't  do  that  again,"  she  said  finally.  "  I  won't 
—  you'll  see !  " 

"  It  worries  me  so  to  see  you,  Vance,"  I  said.  "  It'll 
tire  you  all  out  again." 

"  It  won't ;  you'll  see !  "  she  said.  "  I'm  going  to  get 
up  this  afternoon.  Get  up  and  get  ready  to  go  to-mor- 


244  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

row.  You'll  see.  I'm  old  now.  I'm  a  thousand  years 
older  now  after  these  last  two  days. 

"  Older  than  that  great  turtle  they  found  over  there 
in  the  river,"  she  said,  and  looked  at  me  and  we  both 
laughed. 

For  after  all  we  weren't,  either  of  us,  very  old  yet. 

And  right  away  after  that,  she  was  back  again.  Her 
spirits  were  as  bright  and  lively  as  they  ever  were. 

But  outside  there,  we  knew  —  we  both  knew  —  the 
Fever  was  all  around  us.  The  street  below  us  was  full  of 
it.  And  now  and  then,  if  you  listened,  you  could  hear 
the  voices  of  the  sick  folks  —  one  or  two  of  them  —  very 
faint,  moaning  and  muttering.  And  I  kneeled  beside  her, 
scared  and  wondering,  both  of  us  wondering  whether  or 
not  we  ourselves  were  going  to  escape  it.  But  I,  especially, 
kneeling  there  by  her,  wondering  secretly,  and  worry 
ing  over  what  the  doctor  had  said  about  her,  the  warn 
ings  he  had  given;  scared  and  wondering  whether  that 
next  day,  or  week,  or  month,  I  would  still  hold  that  dear 
body  in  my  arms;  or  whether  death,  creeping  and  crawl 
ing  outside  our  windows  there,  would  have  her  at  last; 
take  her  forever  from  me  —  before  we  could  escape,  es 
cape  and  get  her  out  of  there. 

And  then,  after  a  little  longer,  we  heard  my  Uncle 
calling  out  in  the  hall  and  saying,  I'd  better  come  and 
let  her  sleep  some  more. 

"  You'll  see,"  she  said,  when  I  was  going.  "  I  won't  be 
like  that  again.  I'm  through  with  all  that  foolishness 
of  that  dream.  I'm  a  woman  now.  It's  been  a  thousand 
years  now  since  I  was  a  girl." 

And  the  strangest  part  of  it  was,  she  told  the  truth. 
From  that  time  on  she  was  a  woman  —  stronger  and 
firmer,  and  a  lot  more  sensible,  and  steadier  than  any 
of  us. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    GREEN    FLIES 

MY  Uncle  looked  up  once  during  dinner.  We 
were  alone  yet;  Vance  was  still  upstairs  rest 
ing.  He  looked  up  at  me,  once. 

"  There's  one  thing,"  he  said.  "  A  lawyer's  bound  to 
know  something  about  Property." 

I  had  to  grin  when  I  answered  him.  But  he  didn't  see 
that  —  he  wouldn't  —  about  "  Property  " ! 

It  was  all  mighty  serious  to  him  — "  Property  " ;  some 
thing  that  you  feared  and  bowed  down  to,  and  worshiped, 
with  candles,  almost. 

Then  he  looked  up  a  second  time,  after  a  while. 

"  It  ain't  much  I  got  now,"  he  said.  "  But  what  there 
is  will  be  all  for  her." 

There  was  nothing  for  me  to  say.  I  looked  up  at  him, 
curious  —  and  waited. 

And  then  finally,  he  said  to  me  again,  after  a  long  wait 
—  sitting  there,  motionless,  head  down,  between  times ; 
waiting  for  Arabella  to  bring  in  the  dessert : 

"  If  anything  happens  to  me  —  if  anything  should  hap 
pen  to  me,  there's  some  things,  I  expect,  I'd  better  show 
you.  Pretty  quick !  "  he  went  on. 

I  looked  up  at  him  quick,  for  naturally,  I  thought  of 
"  Hagar's  Hoard."  But  I  told  him  we'd  better  wait  till 
to-morrow.  It  was  kind  of  crawly,  listening  to  him,  talk 
ing  with  those  dead  eyes  on  his  plate  —  as  if  everything 
was  done  and  over  with  —  like  he  was  dead  and  buried 

already. 

245 


246  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  To-morrow,"  I  said,  "  when  we're  going.  You  can 
tell  me  to-morrow." 

I  don't  know  whether  I  did  right  or  not;  I  never  was 
quite  sure.  But  anyhow,  he  didn't  answer,  or  try  again, 
and  right  away  Arabella  brought  in  the  dessert,  and  he 
gobbled  it  up  and  got  up  from  the  table. 

The  next  thing  I  remember,  now,  as  I  look  back  to  it, 
was  Arabella,  standing  out  there  on  the  sidewalk  around 
the  house,  to  the  back  door,  looking  down  toward  the  big 
barn,  muttering  to  herself,  under  the  big  elm  tree  at  the 
corner  of  the  house. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Arabella  ?  "  I  went  out  and  asked 
her. 

Another  sign  and  myst'ry  I  expected. 

"  That  old  Gen.  Sherman,"  she  said,  still  keeping  look 
ing,  where  he  lay  —  still  lay,  curled  up  on  the  doorstep  to 
the  harness  room  in  the  big  barn. 

"  What  ails  him?  "  I  said,  looking. 

"  I  don  know !  I  don  know !  "  she  said,  shaking  her 
head,  and  kind  of  talking  to  herself.  "  Just  lyin'  there ! 
Just  lyin'  there ! 

"  I  can't  call  him,"  she  went  on.  "  I  can't  git  him 
away  from  there ;  he  won't  come !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  get  him,  then  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  dunno ;  I  dunno,"  she  kept  answering. 

She  seemed  so  like  a  fool,  just  standing  there,  looking, 
and  the  dog  not  a  hundred  feet  off. 

"Why  not?"  I  said. 

"  I  dunno ;  I  dunno,"  she  said,  "  I  ain't  thought  I 
would.  I  done  let  him  alone. 

"  I  dunno,"  she  said.  And  then,  when  I  pressed  her, 
"  I  dunno  as  I  wan'ter  go ;  looks  to  me  like  somethin'  ain't 
just  right  there!" 

"  Oh,  go  along  out,"  I  said,  mad.     There  it  was,  broad, 


THE  GREEN  FLIES  247 

hot  daylight.  "  Go  on  along.  If  you  want  anything, 
I'm  right  here." 

And  so  she  went  dragging  over  there,  one  foot  after 
the  other,  and  the  old  dog  got  up  as  she  came  along. 
But  instead  of  coming  toward  her,  like  he  usually  would, 
he  stood  with  his  back  to  her,  looking  up  at  the  door  to 
the  harness  room,  and  growled.  I  heard  him  growl,  down 
in  his  throat. 

And  I  stopped  and  waited  before  I  went  into  the  house. 
And  the  negress  looked  around,  and  saw  me,  and  went 
along  on,  and  stood  up  close  to  the  door  —  that  glass  top 
door  to  the  harness  room. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  she  stepped  back,  and  called  to 
me,  and  I  went  over  —  wondering  what  new  foolishness 
this  was.  And  when  I  got  there  she  was  talking,  going 
this  old  singsong. 

"  Oh  Lawdy !  "  she  was  saying.  "  Oh  Lawdy !  Oh 
Lawd !  Oh  Lawd  God !  " 

"  Keep  quiet ! "  I  said,  for  her  voice  was  rising. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  See  'em,  look !  "  she  said,  her  eyes  standing  out  like 
knobs.  "  Look  yonder !  Look  at  'em !  " 

The  dog  was  there  at  the  foot  of  the  outside  stairs.  He 
didn't  want  to  move,  so  I  kicked  him  aside.  But  at  first  I 
didn't  see  it;  I  didn't  notice  a  thing. 

There  was  a  black  curtain  to  the  window  in  the  door 
—  closed  clear  down  to  keep  the  light  out  of  the  harness 
room. 

"  What ! "  I  said,  speaking  sharp  to  her. 

"  Them  flies,"  said  Arabella,  pointing.  "  See  'em ! 
Them  great  fat  green  flies.  See  'em ;  see  'em  crawlin' !  " 

I  saw  them  then.  The  glass  this  side  of  the  curtain 
was  covered  with  them  —  light  green  against  the  old  black 
shade  —  green,  and  whitish  wings ;  a  gauzy  veil  of  great, 


248  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

fat,  lazy  flies  sitting  there  and  crowding,  and  dragging 
up  and  down. 

But  then  it  didn't  strike  me  either ;  funny  too !  I'd 
heard  all  about  it.  The  negress  stood  behind  me,  twitch 
ing  at  my  coat  tails.  "  Come  away !  Come  away ! 
Come  away,  Mr.  Beavis !  "  she  said.  "  Lawd  God,  can't 
you  smell  it?  " 

The  dog  stood  there  beside  me  now,  head  down,  cocking 
over  one  red  eye  at  the  crack  under  the  door.  And  the 
coarse  old  yellow  hair  rising  up  along  his  back  bone. 

I  looked  at  him,  and  I  looked  at  her,  and  then  I  stepped 
off  the  step,  for  I  smelled  it  —  that  awful  sweetish  smell 
you  get  going  by  a  field  in  the  summer  —  a  field  where 
those  old  buzzards  come  flapping  slowly  up. 

"  Yassuh,"  said  the  negress,  reading  my  eyes.  "  Yas- 
suh,  somebody ! " 

Then  I  took  my  key.  It  was  to  the  other  door,  across 
the  carriage  way  from  the  harness  room. 

Lord,  how  I  hung  back,  and  hated  to ! 

"  Don't  you  do  it ! "  said  the  negress,  begging  me. 
"  Mr.  Beavis.  Don't  you  never  do  it !  " 

I  took  my  key,  the  dog  following  me,  and  unlocked  the 
door. 

He  stood  right  back  of  me;  a  bristling  collar  of  hair 
standing  out  around  his  neck,  and  his  front  paws  on  the 
step  —  his  little  red  eyes  looking  at  my  heels. 

But  the  negress  went  around  to  the  side  —  to  the  win 
dow  to  the  harness  room  on  the  other  side.  I  had  un 
locked  the  door  and  stepped  into  the  dry  hot  barn  when 
I  first  heard  her  starting  screaming: 

"  Oh  God !     Oh  God !     Oh  my  God !  " 

She  was  hollering  —  the  way  the  niggers  do  when  they 
see  Death ;  the  way  those  sanctified  niggers  holler  when 
they're  being  saved  from  Hell : 


THE  GREEN  FLIES  249 

"  God  he'p  me !  God  he'p  me !  God  he'p  me !  "  More 
like  a  bark  than  anything  human.  "  God  he'p  me !  " 

I  jumped  to  go  out,  for  I  thought  of  Vance.  But  she 
stopped  then  —  bit  right  off  where  she  was.  My  Uncle 
had  come  there.  Just  the  sight  of  him  was  like  a  cold 
bath  to  her  always. 

She  stopped  and  whispered. 

So  I  went  back.  I  went  along  through  the  carriage 
way  —  dark  with  the  place  all  closed.  And  stood  and 
waited  till  my  eyes  got  used  to  it.  Stood,  and  it  seemed 
like  my  feet  were  held  down,  grown  out  with  roots  into 
the  floor.  The  old  dog  was  there  behind  me,  waiting. 

And  then  I  went  along,  of  course,  and  took  the  iron 
latch,  and  the  dog  crouched  back  of  me  a  little,  and 
growled  down  in  his  throat.  And  clack!  I  put  up  the 
latch,  and  with  a  jerk,  snatched  back  the  door  —  and 

"  God !  "  I  spat  it  out  of  my  mouth,  that  puff  of  thick, 
hot  air ;  that  rush  of  flies  —  all  into  my  mouth  and  eyes 
and  hair.  I  spat  and  waved  and  warded  with  my  hands 
against  the  flies  and  the  stench  and  the  sight  —  under  the 
light  from  the  crack  of  the  shade  before  me  —  of  that 
black  thing  —  and  all  those  crawling,  feasting  flies ;  that 
black  thing  that  had  been  the  half-nigger,  on  the  floor. 

And  slam !  The  door  went  shut  again.  And  I  stepped 
back,  straight  on  the  paw  of  Gen.  Sherman.  Not  a 
whimper,  not  a  sound  out  of  him  —  except  again  that 
deep  old  growl  down  in  his  throat. 

And  the  negress  started  hollering  again  —  the  way  they 
do  in  those  meetings  of  theirs. 

"  Jesus !  Jesus !  Jesus  !  I'm  aburnin' !  I'm  aburnin' ! 
I'm  a  sinner !  Oh,  he'p  me !  Oh,  he'p  me !  I'm  agoin'  to 
die!" 

I  ran  out  again.  For  I  saw  she  had  got  loose  from 
my  Uncle  Athiel. 


250  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  already,  from  somewhere  up  the  alley,  the  niggers 
had  begun  to  gather,  looking.  They  stood  there  —  three 
or  four  of  them  —  with  those  motionless  black  faces,  look 
ing.  There  were  two  more  coming  when  I  got  there. 

"  Hyah !  "  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  to  them.  "  Take  hold 
of  her !  Make  her  stop !  " 

But  his  voice  wasn't  loud  enough.  And  he  knew  it  — 
and  he  motioned  to  me,  to  help. 

"  Come  here  you,"  I  hollered  to  two  or  three  of  them 
that  I  had  seen  around  before.  "  Take  hold  of  her ! 
Take  her  way  —  over  there  to  her  room !  " 

For  they  were  crowding  in  around.  And  my  Uncle 
didn't  even  prevent  them. 

They  took  her  —  two  big  nigger  women  first,  and  then 
two  more.  She  was  bowing  down  and  jerking  back  — 
like  a  fish  jerking  out  of  the  water.  And  hollering  and 
crying. 

But  they  took  her,  one  to  each  arm  and  leg,  and  lugged 
her,  yanking  and  jerking  and  hollering,  just  took  her 
with  them  back  into  the  big  old  servants'  room.  And 
not  a  change,  not  a  sound,  not  an  expression  on  their  old 
smooth  faces  —  except  now  and  then,  when  she  made  a 
jerk  —  jerking  and  twisting  more  than  usual,  and  they 
had  to  strain  a  little  holding  her.  They  took  her  along, 
just  as  calm  and  unruffled  as  with  anything  they  were 
all  used  and  accustomed  to  —  with  this  old  common  re 
ligious  fit,  just  as  natural  and  expected  as  sudden  sickness 
or  childbirth. 

And  then  when  they  quieted  her  some: 

"  Judas !  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  chatter  stop ! "  my 
Uncle  said. 

"  She  hadn't  ever  seen  a  nigger  dead  with  it,  I  expect," 
he  said,  watching  after  them. 


THE  GREEN  FLIES 

But  the  other  niggers  didn't  look  after  them  at  all. 
Their  soft  old  black  eyes  were  looking  at  the  old  harness 
room,  and  the  glass  door  with  the  shade  down,  and  the 
old  yellow  dog  standing  by  the  doorway. 

"  Get  'em  out  of  here,"  said  my  Uncle  to  me  —  asking 
me  to  do  it,  like  it  was  the  usual  thing,  instead  of  doing 
it  himself.  "  Get  'em  out  of  here !  " 

I  sent  one  nigger  off  to  get  the  undertaker  —  for  Make 
Haste  Mose. 

"  And  now,  the  rest  of  you,"  I  said,  "  get  out  of  here ! 
Git!" 

And  they  moved  away  slowly,  back  a  little  way  into  the 
alley. 

"  I  can't  have  'em ;  I  won't  have  'em  watchin'  and  gog- 
glin'  'round.  Half  of  'em  are  thieves,"  my  Uncle  Athiel 
said. 

But  there  wasn't  any  expression  in  his  voice,  somehow. 
There  wasn't  even  any  life  to  his  fear.  And  I  was  doing 
it  all  for  him  —  just  naturally,  like  he  was  an  old,  old 
man! 

We  stood  there  waiting,  waiting  a  little  ways  off; 
watching  the  old  dog  outside  the  door  there  —  standing 
watching. 

"  He  must  have  gone  in  there,  that  half-nigger,"  said 
my  Uncle  Athiel,  staring  toward  the  closed  black  shade. 
"  He  must  have  run  in  there  hidin',  when  you  chased 
him.  Through  a  window,  maybe. 

"  And  right  after  that,"  he  said,  "  it  must  'a'  took 
him!  What  time  was  it  he  came?  What  time  do  you 
think?" 

"  Most  midnight,  it  must  have  been,"  said  I. 

"  That's  the  time !  "  my  Uncle  Athiel  said.  "  That's 
the  time  they  get  it !  And  then  the  old  dog  came !  " 


HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

Arabella  had  started  up  again,  hollering  —  singing  out 
and  hollering,  something  new ! 

"  Oh,  God !  Hosses  and  chayiots !  Hosses  and  chay- 
iots !  Oh,  my  God !  " 

A  big  nigger  woman  —  the  first  one  that  had  grabbed 
her  —  came  up  behind  us. 

"  She's  agoin',"  she  told  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "  She  say 
she's  agoin'  away  from  here.  She  say  she  can't  stay 
here  no  longer." 

"  Let  her  go,"  my  Uncle  Athiel  said  to  me,  without  turn 
ing  around.  "  She  won't  be  any  more  good  after  this." 

"  Yassuh,"  said  the  woman. 

"  And  you  —  all  the  rest  of  you  —  move  along  now !  " 
I  said,  for  they  were  coming  around  again  by  the  gate 
to  the  alley  —  whispering,  looking. 

So  they  pushed  back,  stepping  on  each  other  —  the 
front  ones  on  those  behind  them.  But  they  stood  around 
outside  there,  with  their  old  expressionless  faces,  still 
looking. 

"  That  was  it,  I  expect,"  my  Uncle  went  along.  "  That 
was  how  it  was.  He  came  and  stood  there  —  that  old 
dog.  And  the  half-nigger  thought  he'd  lie  low  and  wait 
and  see  if  he  wouldn't  go  away.  But  he  didn't,  the  old 
fool  dog,"  said  my  Uncle,  watching  him. 

There  he  stood,  there  by  the  door  —  a  funny  thing  to 
look  at  —  that  poor  old  rambling,  toothless  beast  that 
nobody  thought  was  any  good,  or  ever  could  be.  But 
when  the  little  dog  was  killed,  and  he  saw  it ;  and  he  saw, 
what  we  did  not  see,  that  night  after,  that  half-nigger  — 
some  old  ghost  of  a  dog  —  some  old  mastiff  away  back 
there  in  the  blood  of  that  old  mongrel  dog,  waked  up  and 
stood  there  all  that  time,  bristling  and  watching  at  his 
enemy. 


THE  GREEN  FLIES  253 

"  If  he'd  a  moved,  he'd  set  the  dog  a  hollerin',"  said 
my  Uncle,  thinking  of  the  half -nigger.  "  So  he  lay  there 
still.  And  then,  then  the  Fever  took  him.  And  then, 
after  that,  I  expect,  it  was  this  way:  When  the  nigger 
found  that  it  was  most  daylight,  and  he'd  knew  he'd  got 
to  do  something  —  go  somewhere  —  and  he  was  getting 
sicker  and  sicker  all  the  time  —  why  then  he  turned  and 
twisted  and  raised  himself  up,  and  tried  to  climb  out  and 
get  away.  And  the  tryin'  and  exercise  and  strainin' 
killed  him!  You  can't  do  much,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel. 
"  You  can't  do  much  when  you  once  get  that  Fever.  It 
starts  you  bleeding  from  the  stomach;  it  kills  you." 

He'd  got  talking  as  low  and  tiresome  now,  as  a  man 
talking  of  some  Fever  a  thousand  years  ago  —  as  if  it 
wasn't  there  around  us  at  all.  And  all  the  time  my  eye 
was  on  that  black  shade,  closed ;  and  my  mind  was  seeing 
what  was  there  behind  us. 

"  Well,  there  ain't  any  use  of  our  staying  here  any 
longer,"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar.  "  Let's  go  on  back  to 
the  house." 

And  when  he  said  it,  I  stood  and  stared  at  him,  and 
then  I  broke  and  started  on  for  the  house  myself,  for 
I  thought  of  Vance,  finally.  It  was  like  me,  just  exactly 
—  only  one  thing  at  a  time  for  me.  And  that  thing  out 
there  in  the  barn  had  fastened  on  all  the  mind  I'd  got,  I 
expect,  and  eaten  it  up. 

And  when  I  got  there,  Vance  was  down  below,  in  the 
side  hallway,  all  dressed  as  usual,  cool  as  you  please! 

"What  was  it?"  she  said. 

And  when  I  started  and  took  time  telling  her: 

"  Did  they  find  some  one  dead  out  there  —  that  half- 
nigger?  "  she  asked  me.  For  of  course  there  had  been 
a  number  of  cases  like  that  —  in  other  places  —  like  I 
told  you,  where  folks  had  crawled  in  and  died. 


254  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  when  I  told  her  she  was  right,  she  was  as  cool  and 
collected  as  an  old  soldier. 

It  wasn't  very  long  after  that,  before  Make  Haste 
Mose  and  his  men  had  come  there  with  their  coffin.  They 
came  in  front  at  first,  but  we  sent  them  around  back  into 
the  alley. 

I  went  out  part  way,  just  enough  so  I  could  keep  my 
eye  on  them.  And  it  certainly  did  not  take  them  long. 
For  Make  Haste  Mose  kept  driving  them. 

"  Come  on  —  come  on ! "  he  kept  saying.  "  Mek 
Haste!  Mek  Haste!  Mek  Haste!  We  got  to  be  get- 
tin'  along!" 

Just  an  ordinary  nigger  he  was,  a  kind  of  pleasant, 
careless  nigger.  But  he  certainly  was  a  driver  that  sum 
mer.  It  seemed  to  me  like  it  couldn't  have  been  more 
than  ten  minutes,  all  together  —  from  the  time  that  empty 
coffin  thumped  upon  the  ground,  till  they  took  it  off 
again,  with  that  half-nigger  in  it. 

And  after  that,  when  I  was  coming  into  the  house, 
Arabella  was  going  away  for  good.  You  could  hear  her 
just  as  plain,  going  down  the  alley,  hollering: 

"  Oh,  Jesus !  Oh,  come  along !  Oh,  Vict'ry !  Vict'ry ! 
Vict'ry ! " 

You  could  hear  her  just  as  plain  way  down  the  alley  — 
clapping  her  hands  together,  and  hollering  that  —  her 
voice  rising  and  whooping  and  breaking. 

"  Niggers'  Doomsday !  "  said  my  Uncle,  at  the  door  to 
the  side  hall.  "  Niggers'  Doomsday ! 

"  And  I  don't  know  but  they're  right,"  he  said  after 
ward.  "  I  expect  we'd  all  die  if  we  had  to  stay  here !  " 

And  it  seemed  to  me  his  face  was  yellower  —  more  like 
tallow ;  and  his  mouth  bluer ;  and  his  eyes  duller  than  they 
ever  were. 


I 

J 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    FEVER 

AND  now  I've  got  to  the  last  day  —  that  day  we 
thought  we  were  going  —  and  didn't.     And  one 
of  us  never  did  go !     And  when  I  think  of  it,  I 
sit  and  wonder  still,  sometimes,  at  the  devilish,  infernal 
way  it  all  happened. 

It  does  seem,  sometimes,  as  if  the  Devil  was  in  the  whole 
thing,  tying  us  there  in  that  invisible  net,  that  was  thrown 
around  us,  and  kept  us  all  from  getting  away.  And  cer 
tainly  if  old  Satan  owns  the  money,  and  buys  folks  with 
it,  like  they  say  in  the  old  stories,  he  surely  had  arranged 
to  come  and  take  his  pay  —  that  day. 

That  night  before  was  the  longest  night  since  the  world 
began.  I  know;  for  I  saw  it  all.  I  couldn't  sleep  a 
wink.  For  just  as  soon  as  I  lay  down,  and  shut  my  eyes 
—  just  that  soon  I  saw  the  thing  —  that  half-nigger  ly 
ing  there  on  the  floor  again.  And  heard  the  nigger 
woman  screaming  for  the  Judgment  Day.  And  that  day 
before  there  had  been  three  deaths  more  in  houses  we 
could  see  from  our  own  windows  —  folks  we'd  known  or 
seen,  or  could  recall  when  one  of  us  would  say :  "  Don't 
you  remember  that  little  short  woman  with  the  gray 
hair?  "  Three  deaths  on  three  different  streets  and  three 
Fever  fires  lit  that  evening.  The  thing  was  falling  all 
around  us ;  striking  unforeseen  and  crazy  as  death  in  a 
battle.  And  if  we  hadn't  had  it  yet,  it  was  only  just  the 

257 


258  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

mercy  of  God,  it  seemed  to  me.  For,  of  course,  we  didn't 
know  what  really  brought  the  Fever,  then. 

So  all  night  long  I  sat  there,  restless,  sleepless  —  and 
every  now  and  then  half  whispering,  half  praying  to  my 
self  :  "  Just  this  one  night !  Just  this  one  night !  If 
we  can  only  get  through  this  one !  " 

For  it  seemed  clear  enough  that  it  was  now  or  never. 

And  sitting  there,  and  watching,  I  saw  and  overlooked, 
and  didn't  even  understand  the  thing  that  came  to  keep  us. 

It  must  have  been  half-past  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
I  know  I  had  looked  at  my  watch  some  while  before,  and 
it  was  a  little  after  two.  Everything  was  still.  Earlier 
in  the  evening  we  had  all  been  busy,  finishing  packing  up 
—  what  we  could ;  and  for  a  while  I  heard  my  Uncle  fus 
sing  around  in  his  room.  But  now  it  seemed  to  me  both 
he  and  Vance  were  sleeping ;  and  I  was  the  only  one  awake 
in  the  house  —  in  the  world,  it  seemed  like  sometimes. 
For  the  town  was  very  still,  like  one  of  those  old  dead 
cities,  I  remember  thinking,  they  found  out  in  the  Persian 
deserts.  Then  all  at  once,  the  fire-bell  rang ;  and  I  heard 
the  sound  of  feet  drumming  on  the  sidewalk  —  some  nigger 
policeman,  or  militia  man,  I  expect.  They  had  them  run 
ning  to  the  fires. 

There  had  been  quite  a  number  of  fires  lately;  some 
set,  they  said,  for  purposes  of  thievery.  But  none  very 
serious.  I  heard  the  noise  and  saw  the  light  and  the 
general  direction  of  this  one.  And  it  was  quite  a  little 
blaze.  But  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  it.  And  I 
never  thought,  until  they  brought  us  word  in  the  morn 
ing,  that  it  was  Uncle  Athiel's  nigger  tenements  burning. 

It  was  after  breakfast  time  before  we  heard  of  it  all. 
We  were  going  to  start  away  and  leave  the  house  a  little 
before  noon  —  to  drive  over  and  take  the  afternoon  train 
out  in  the  eastern  end  of  the  town,  where  they  stopped  and 


THE  FEVER  259 

started  their  trains  now,  so  as  to  keep  them  out  of  the 
Fever.  And  our  four  trunks  were  already  loaded,  when 
John  McCallan  came  to  go  over  the  place  for  the  last 
time  with  me,  and  see  what  we  wanted  him  to  watch  es 
pecially;  and  told  me  the  news  that  they  were  all  burned 
up  and  destroyed  —  all  our  tenements  gone  together. 

I  never  hated  and  feared  to  go  any  place  in  my  life 
like  I  did  to  crawl  up  those  stairs  and  knock  on  that  old 
brown  door  of  the  Purple  Room  where  my  Uncle  Athiel 
had  gone  back  after  breakfast.  For  I  saw  then  what 
might  happen. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said,  from  the  other  side  of  the 
door. 

I've  always  said  he  looked  better  that  morning.  I  be 
lieve  he'd  had  a  pretty  good  night's  rest.  His  eyes  were 
brighter,  and  his  voice,  when  I  called  him,  was  stronger, 
when  he  answered  through  the  door. 

"  Open  up,  please,"  I  said.     "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

And  so  he  opened  it  finally,  and  stood  there  —  and 
back  of  him,  I  saw,  he  was  holding  that  old  brown  satchel 
he  used  to  carry  for  his  rents. 

"  Well,  what !  "  he  said  sharply.  For  it  struck  him,  I 
expect,  that  something  unusual  must  have  happened  for 
-me  to  come  there  and  rout  him  out  of  that  room. 

"  There  was  a  fire  down  town  last  night,"  I  said,  stut 
tering. 

"  Suppose  there  was !  "  he  said,  his  eyes  set  hard  and 
black  and  still  on  mine. 

"  The  tenements  have  gone !  "  I  blurted  out. 

"  Gone !  Last  night !  "  he  said,  slowly,  like  a  man  try 
ing  to  get  it  through  his  head.  And  looked  away  from 
me,  and  licked  his  lips.  That  was  all  he  said. 

"  I  thought  I'd  better  tell  you  right  off,"  I  said  to 
him. 


260  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

But  he  didn't  say  anything  or  move. 

"  So  if  you  wanted  anything  done  — "  I  went  along. 

"  Done !  "  he  said  after  me,  in  a  kind  of  an  old  dead 
voice.  "  Done !  No,  I  reckon  that's  all  that  can  be  done 
—  for  me ! 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  while  I  stood  there  waiting.  "  No,  I 
expect  that  settles  it." 

And  he  drew  back  and  shut  the  door  after  him,  very 
softly,  and  locked  it,  turning  the  key  in  the  lock  very 
slowly. 

I  didn't  like  the  look  of  his  face,  then;  the  life  had 
gone  down  in  it,  in  that  minute  or  two,  like  turning  down 
a  lamp. 

I  went  down,  and  out  around  the  yard  with  John  Mc- 
Callan  and  came  back  then  to  see  Vance ;  and  she  said  that 
all  that  time  she  hadn't  heard  her  father  moving  in  his 
room.  It  must  have  been,  then,  half-past  nine  o'clock ; 
and  the  trunks  were  all  gone  on  their  way.  And  we  were 
wondering  what  we  should  do  next. 

But  a  little  while  after  that  my  Uncle  came  out,  and 
got  us  both  in  the  sitting  room,  and  started  talking  to  us. 

"  Here,"  he  said  to  me.  "  I've  made  up  my  mind.  You 
take  these  two  tickets  and  this  money,  and  take  your 
cousin  Vance  and  go." 

His  eyes  were  like  burnt  holes  in  a  blanket,  way  back 
in  his  head ;  but  there  was  some  light  in  them  now  again, 
a  kind  of  steady  light  that  never  went  out  of  them  after 
wards. 

"  What  will  you  do?  "  I  said. 

"  I've  got  to  stay,"  he  said,  a  little  quicker.  "  I've  got 
to  stay ;  I've  got  to  stay  and  watch  out  for  my  *  Prop 
erty,'  all  that's  left." 

"  Property !  "  I  said,  "  Property !     What  Property?  " 

"  This  house.     My  house !  "  he  said.     "  I  ain't  agoin' 


THE  FEVER  261 

to  go  and  leave  it.  It  cost  too  much.  I've  got  too  much 
money  in  it !  " 

I  saw  Vance  get  white  and  bite  her  lips.  The  whole 
thing  that  we'd  built  up  was  falling  to  pieces  again. 

I  was  the  first  one  —  my  temper  —  to  go,  as  usual,  un 
der  the  strain. 

"  We're  all  ready !  We're  all  ready !  "  I  said,  getting 
up,  and  marching  toward  him.  "  You  can't  go  back  on 
us  now.  No  sir !  You've  got  to  go  !  " 

I  was  mad  and  scared  at  the  same  time.  The  Fever 
was  moaning  and  screaming  all  round  us.  You  could 
step  to  that  window  and  hear  the  old  "  Um-um-um,"  that 
groaning  of  the  sick.  There  was  a  boy,  a  boy  named 
Saunders  —  we  knew  him  well  —  down  the  street  op 
posite  us.  And  up  the  street  a  woman,  crying,  that  morn 
ing,  in  some  house  again. 

"  Yes,  go !  "  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  his  voice  rising, 
stronger.  "  Go,  and  starve  to  death !  Go,  and  die  in 
the  poorhouse !  " 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  stopped  where  he  was  —  or  I 
believe  he  would  have  been  crying. 

But  that  didn't  stop  me. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  any  prettier  death,"  I  said,  "  to 
stay  here  and  rot  in  this  damned  Fever !  " 

"  Beavis !  "  said  Vance. 

"  I  ain't  afraid  of  it.  I  ain't  any  more  afraid  of  this 
Fever,"  said  my  Uncle  Hagar,  "  than  I  am  of  sunstroke. 
You  don't  have  to  get  it  unless  you  want  lo." 

"  Tell  that  to  the  Marines,"  I  said. 

"  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  said  my  Uncle. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Are  you  going  to  keep 
Vance  and  kill  her?  "  I  said. 

"  That's  different,"  said  he.  "  Vance  is  going  with 
you." 


262  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  Let  me  talk  to  him,  Beavis,"  said  Vance.  "  Let  me 
talk  to  him." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  raving,  and  turned  my  back,  swearing  at 
him  and  his  foolishness  under  my  breath.  And  stood  there 
at  the  window,  looking  down  at  the  deserted  street  while 
they  talked  it  out. 

"  I  can't  afford  to,"  he  told  her.  "  I  can't  afford  to. 
It  ain't  going  to  be  possible  for  me  to  go." 

And  when  she  told  him  the  house  and  everything  in  it 
would  be  well  watched  and  taken  care  of,  he  said  "  No," 
he  knew  better.  "  Not  with  all  the  niggers  in  town  sitting 
and  watching  and  staring  at  it,  and  talking  over  all  those 
old  stories.  No,  somebody  would  have  to  stay  and  watch 
it. 

"  But  you  can  go,"  he  said,  "  you  two.  You've  got 
to." 

And  so  for  an  hour,  it  seemed  to  me,  they  had  it  back 
and  forth ;  he  saying  that  she  must  go,  and  she  saying 
that  she  never  would  go  without  him ;  and  telling  him  how 
she'd  waited  all  this  time  just  to  get  him  to  go;  and 
teasing  him  and  arguing  with  him,  and  telling  him  —  sup 
pose  he  lost  it  all.  What  then?  We'd  get  along  some 
way. 

And  part  of  the  time  she  sat  beside  him  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair,  and  part  of  the  time  she  was  down  in  front  of 
him  on  her  knees  —  sometimes  —  looking  up  and  talking, 
and  catching  hold  of  his  hand,  like  a  teasing  child. 

And  he  on  his  side  was  just  as  obstinate  and  determined 
that  she  should  go  without  him.  And  several  times  he 
patted  her  hand  and  when  she  was  looking  at  him,  pushed 
back  her  hair,  and  looked  into  her  eyes ;  very  clumsy  — 
clumsy  like  men  are  who  don't  show  their  feelings  that 
way  very  often.  But  she  wouldn't  move  without  him. 

The  talk  went  in  circles ;  round  and  round,  and  back  to 


THE  FEVER  263 

the  same  place  —  round  and  round,  like  the  dogs  follow 
ing  a  fox  on  the  hills;  and  you  could  see  his  mind  turn 
back  again  and  again,  to  the  center  of  everything  to  him 
—  to  his  property. 

But  Vance  held  where  she  was,  and  finally  I  thought  — 
we  both  thought  she  had  him.  For  he  stopped  talking, 
and  she  kissed  him,  and  told  him  he  was  going,  and  to  go 
upstairs  and  get  ready ;  and  he  got  up  without  answering, 
and  went  upstairs  again  into  his  room.  He  seemed 
pretty  shaky. 

But  when  he  went  in  there,  he  didn't  come  out  again. 

Half-past  ten  o'clock  came,  and  I  didn't  like  it. 
Eleven,  and  I  was  getting  restless,  and  Vance  was  too.  I 
saw  her  listening  by  the  staircase.  And  then,  quarter 
past  eleven,  and,  if  we  were  going,  we'd  got  to  be  starting 
soon.  And  finally,  Vance  went  up  and  told  her  father 
he'd  have  to  come  down  and  have  some  lunch  before  he 
started. 

But  all  he  said  was :  "  I'm  not  hungry."  And  Vance 
and  I  took  a  few  bites  together,  standing  up,  and  clearing 
everything  right  away.  I  had  the  horse  all  harnessed  in 
the  barn. 

And  then,  at  quarter  to  twelve,  Vance  went  up,  all 
dressed  to  go,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  And  her  face 
was  flushed  and  excited. 

"  Come,  Dad,  come !  "  she  called.  "  It's  time  to  go. 
We're  all  ready." 

He  didn't  answer  at  all  at  first,  and  then  he  said  again : 
"  You  go  !  " 

"  Come,  dear !  "  she  said ;  kept  saying.  "  Please,  we've 
got  to  hurry !  " 

His  hand  came  on  the  doorknob  once,  she  said,  and 
turned  it,  and  he  started  to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock,  but 
he  didn't,  quite. 


264  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

And  all  at  once  this  loud  voice,  that  she  scarcely  knew 
was  his,  came  out  from  behind  that  old,  high  door:  "  No 
sir.  No  sir.  I'll  stay  right  here.  I'm  going  to  stay 
right  here  with  my  Property.  You  can  go,  but  I  got  to 
stay  here  and  keep  my  eye  peeled  for  my  Property." 

And  after  that  he  didn't  say  any  more,  only  —  after 
she  had  knocked  and  called  a  lot  more — :  "Get  away 
from  there !  Get  away  from  there !  " 

By  that  time  I  was  up  there  beside  Vance,  and  when 
he  said  it,  she  turned  to  me  and  caught  her  arms  around 
me,  and  hid  her  face  in  silence  —  the  way  women  some 
times  do,  turning  away  at  the  end  of  a  burial.  A  hun 
dred  times  she  has  told  me  that  her  father  was  dead  to 
her,  really  from  that  time  on.  But  she  didn't  cry;  nor 
sob;  nor  move  hardly.  And  then  she  stopped,  all  at 
once ;  she  stopped  and  drew  away  from  me,  and  said  very 
quietly : 

"  I  knew  that  he  would  never  go !  " 

I  saw,  of  course,  what  she  was  thinking  of  —  that  dream 
of  hers. 

And  we  went  downstairs  again,  and  Vance  took  off  her 
hat  and  we  made  our  plans  to  stay. 

There  was  no  use  of  arguing  now.  I  could  see  that 
from  her  face.  She  wouldn't  go  —  it  would  only  be  a 
useless  burden  and  torture  to  try  to  make  her  now.  I 
saw  that,  without  talking. 

I  saw  that ;  and  I  went  out  to  the  barn,  and  unhar 
nessed  the  horse  —  clenching  my  hands,  and  striking  them 
against  the  side  of  the  building  to  hurt  and  bruise  them. 
For  I  knew  the  thing  was  done,  that  we  were  all  done 
for. 

"  Don't  worry,"  said  Vance,  when  I  came  back.  "  You 
needn't,  about  me  anyhow.  I'm  just  as  strong  as  you 
are  now,  and  stronger  —  you'll  see." 


THE  FEVER  265 

And  the  strange  thing  —  a  thing  I  never  could  under 
stand  about  women  —  it  was  true,  just  as  she  said.  In 
times  like  that,  strength  comes  to  them  —  a  dozen  times 
their  usual  strength.  Where  from?  I  never  understood. 
But  I  never  saw  any  change  like  that  one  —  that  frail 
girl,  we  all  worried  so  about,  when  it  came  to  the  test, 
out-tired  us  all  —  strengthened  and  hardened,  somehow ; 
steel  to  our  soft  iron;  a  diamond  against  glass. 

She  had  a  lot  more  sense,  and  understanding  and  cheer 
fulness,  I  know,  than  I  did.  From  that  time  on  it  was 
I  who  looked  to  her  for  strengthening  and  self-control. 
Fatalism,  I  believe  they  call  it  now ;  acceptance,  I  call  it. 
And  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  women,  the  best  of 
them,  have  it  a  hundred  times  more  than  men. 

We  could  hear  my  Uncle  walking  all  that  afternoon  — 
slow  at  first;  then  back  and  forth;  back  and  forth;  back 
and  forth  on  that  floor  above  us. 

Then  spaces  of  silence. 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  Vance.  "  Maybe  after  a  while, 
I  can  get  him  to  come  out." 

But  he  wouldn't  —  not  even  after  she  whispered,  and 
told  him  it  was  too  late  to  go  now;  that  we  were  not 
going. 

And  at  evening  we  couldn't  get  him  out  for  supper. 

"  I  can't  eat ;  I  don't  feel  like  it,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel, 
finally,  to  Vance.  And  she  was  encouraged  —  we  both 
were  —  to  hear  him  say  something  —  anything. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    HOUR    AFTEE    MIDNIGHT 

TWILIGHT  came  finally,  and  the  shutting  of  the 
windows.  We  did  it  naturally,  now,  by  force 
of  habit  —  in  spite  of  the  discomfort  of  it,  and 
the  choking  heat. 

For  the  idea,  and  the  fear  of  that  poison  air  outside, 
had  got  hold  of  us  —  and  now,  especially,  with  the  Fever 
groaning  under  our  windows,  all  around  us.  And  that 
night,  and  the  nights  before  it,  too  —  I  went  to  shut  the 
windows  down  against  it  good  and  early  —  as  glad  and 
quick  to  do  it  as  a  child  that  shuts  the  door  behind  him 
on  a  black  stairway. 

"  I  don't  believe  we'll  either  of  us  sleep  much  to-night," 
said  Vance.  "  Not  anyway  till  we  know  what  he's  going 
to  do.  We'll  stay  here  and  wait." 

"  Won't  you  be  too  tired,  dear?  "  I  said. 

"  Not  the  least  bit,"  she  said.  And  her  voice  was  clear 
and  strong,  and  her  looks  as  fresh  and  little  tired  as  I 
ever  saw  them. 

So  we  waited  and  watched  and  listened,  together,  into 
that  night. 

All  over  that  town,  I  expect,  folks  sat  watching  and 
worrying  through  that  night  —  but  none  in  such  a  curi 
ous  way  as  ours.  For  what  we  did  really,  was  just  to 
sit  and  listen  for  sounds  upstairs ;  for  the  motions  behind 

that  old  locked  door,  which  would  show  what  the  man 

266 


THE  HOUR  AFTER  MIDNIGHT  267 

locked  up  in  there  was  doing.  And  to  guess  from  that 
what  really  was  in  his  mind. 

He  might  really  not  be  well  like  Vance  thought.  But 
to  me  it  seemed  that  whatever  sickness  he  had  now,  was 
sickness  of  the  brain,  and  not  the  body. 

He  walked  still,  after  supper,  continually,  up  and  down 
—  but  not  so  fast,  nearly,  as  he  had  on  that  afternoon. 

It  darkened  early  —  another  early  twilight.  The  cur 
tain  of  blue  cloud  which  draws  up  toward  night  on  the 
sky  out  over  the  Mississippi  even  after  the  pleasantest 
day  —  and  especially  as  the  fall  comes  nearer  —  was  up 
to-night  again.  The  lamp-lighter  came  by  —  we  heard 
his  heels  go  clacking  down  the  sidewalk ;  and  the  feeble 
sparks  of  the  gas-lights  twinkle  out  behind  him. 

And  now,  near  and  far  away,  across  the  town,  the  light 
of  the  Fever  fires  came  out  again,  like  evil  flowers  blossom 
ing  in  the  night.  Not  lighted  in  nearly  all  the  cases  now. 
As  time  went  by,  they  gave  that  idea  up.  But  now  there 
were  so  many  deaths  everywhere,  only  an  occasional  fire, 
lighted  here  and  there,  made  a  great  lot  in  the  town. 

And  now  one  more  was  lighted  on  our  street,  and  we 
knew  it  was  for  the  little  German  woman  —  the  last  of 
that  family  the  Fever  had  started  in,  down  under  the 
hill. 

"  The  last  of  them,"  I  said,  "  the  last  one  of  the  whole 
family.  Once  inside  the  house,  once  the  thing  gets  in  — " 
and  I  stared  gloomily  at  the  old  light  —  the  light  of  the 
Fever  fire  that  lay  like  bright  orange  paint  on  the  win 
dow  frame,  and  on  the  face  of  Vance,  standing  watching. 

"  She  was  glad,  I  expect,"  said  Vance  softly.  "  I  know 
that  I  should  be." 

Upstairs  my  Uncle  had  stopped  walking  —  tired  out, 
maybe.  And  sat  there,  motionless,  in  the  dark. 

And,  watching  the  fire  down  the  empty  street,  we  talked 


268  HAGAITS  HOARD 

of  what  had  happened  in  those  last  few  days  —  of  Ara 
bella,  and  of  her  strange  ideas  of  the  end  of  the  world,  and 
all  that.  But,  as  usual,  I  spoiled  it. 

"  It's  likely  to  be  the  end  of  the  world  for  some  of 
us." 

"  Oh,  you  are  hopeless,"  said  Vance  to  me.  "  Can't 
you  ever  pretend;  can't  you  ever  believe  anything?  " 

"  Can't  you  go  —  won't  you  ?  "  I  said,  for  the  hun 
dredth  time. 

"  No,"  said  Vance. 

"  Well,"  I  said  at  last,  "  at  any  rate  we're  here  to 
gether." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance,  "  but  it's  not  the  end  of  the  world 
for  us"  And  her  shoulder  trembled,  once  more,  but  only 
a  very  little,  in  my  arms. 

"  I  know  it  won't  be,"  she  said,  "  for  you  and  me." 

When  I  spoke  back  and  told  her  how  impossible  that 
was  that  she  should  know  that,  she  was  just  as  certain  as 
she  ever  was  about  it. 

"  You  can't  explain  it,"  she  said.  "  No,  you  can't  ex 
plain  your  feelings  —  can  you  ?  No,  not  any  of  them ! 
Heat  or  cold,  or  gladness  or  light.  They  must  come  to 
you,  that's  all. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  there's  many  a  time  that  you  and  I 
will  watch  the  daylight  out  together." 

And  then  she  turned  back  quickly,  sudden  tears  in  her 
eyes,  and  went  out  to  stand  a  long  while  at  the  foot  of 
the  dark  front  stairs,  listening.  And  I  knew,  of  course, 
that  that  thing  was  in  her  mind  again  —  that  premoni 
tion  she  had  had  about  her  father.  But  we  didn't  men 
tion  it,  either  one  of  us,  again. 

There  was  nothing  from  upstairs,  and  Vance  came 
back  to  me.  She  still  thought  —  both  of  us  did  —  that 
it  was  better  to  leave  him  to  himself,  and  not  to  disturb 


THE  HOUR  AFTER  MIDNIGHT  269 

him.  She  had  tried  calling  earlier,  several  times ;  and 
though  he  made  no  answer  to  her,  it  was  plain  enough  he 
didn't  like  it. 

"  Aren't  you  tired  standing  there,  Vance?  "  I  asked. 

For  it  bothered  me,  for  one  thing,  to  stand  there  at  the 
window,  with  the  light  of  the  Fever  fire  before  us. 

And  so  we  did  not  go  back  again.  We  sat  down,  on 
that  old  curved  backed  sofa  that  had  been  her  mother's 
—  the  only  real  common,  homely  piece  of  furniture  around 
the  place  —  an  old  time  hair  cloth  sofa,  with  bright 
worsted  headrests  at  the  ends. 

We  sat  there  waiting  —  talking  —  wondering  —  that 
long  first  of  the  night,  together.  It  was  very  still  — 
dead,  silent,  mostly.  Outside,  very  faintly,  the  little 
tinkle  of  the  mule  car,  now  and  then.  And  once  or  twice 
the  sound  of  the  negro  militia  men  passing  on  the  streets. 
But  mostly  silence.  We  sat  there  talking,  silent,  listen 
ing. 

We  all  remember,  all  of  us,  I  expect!  We  never  can 
forget  those  first  few  times  that  one  dear  woman  gave  us 
the  half-spoken,  half-hidden  confidences  of  a  woman's 
heart  —  phrases,  broken  phrases ;  silences.  Her  hand  in 
your  hand ;  her  dear  body  touching  yours.  But  for  me 
the  thought  of  it  brings  back  again  a  touch  of  fear,  the 
sudden  touch  of  a  cold  fear,  lest  now  —  now  that  I  had 
her  in  my  arms,  lest  I  would  certainly  and  surely  lose  her 
out  of  them  forever.  A  sharp  cold  touch  of  fear  —  and 
the  hush,  and  threat  and  uncertainty,  of  that  unearthly 
silent  night,  with  the  fire  lights,  and  the  poison  of  that 
Fever,  out  beyond  our  windows,  and  the  vacant,  silent 
streets. 

The  man  upstairs  was  moving  finally.  He'd  lighted  a 
light  —  for  the  first  time  he'd  lighted  up  his  light.  We 
saw  it  from  the  windows  of  the  Crystal  Room,  shining  out- 


270  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

side  on  the  trees  from  underneath  one  of  the  shades. 
Then  for  a  long  while  there  was  nothing  more  we  noticed. 

We  talked  of  him  naturally;  and  of  the  thing  which 
bound  him  there  —  his  fear  of  poverty,  of  fire  and  thieves ; 
and  what  actually  there  was  that  he  stood  guarding  there, 
and  was  so  scared  for.  Our  talk  went  rising  up  and  down 
from  silence,  like  a  flickering  candle  in  a  dark  draughty 
room. 

Once,  outside,  there  was  a  sound  —  the  sound  of  a 
hairy  body  come  against  the  side  door ;  and  a  sigh.  And 
after  a  scared  second  or  two  we  understood  that  it  was 
Gen.  Sherman,  the  old  dog,  come  back  —  as  near  as  he 
could  be  to  us  —  now  Arabella  was  gone  away  —  for  com 
pany.  And  we  talked  on  about  the  man  upstairs  —  and 
about  what  he  probably  would  do.  We  heard  him  mov 
ing  around  again  then ;  and  after  a  while  —  a  heavy  sound 
as  if  he  had  flung  himself  upon  his  bed  —  heavy  and 
tired  out. 

"  Money,"  said  Vance.  "  Poor  father's  money.  A 
world  with  nothing  in  it  anywhere  but  money.  Poor 
man ! " 

"  *  Property,'  "  I  said,  quoting  him.  "  Damn  Prop 
erty  !  If  that  was  all  there  was  in  life,  I'd  hope  to  die  to 
morrow." 

"  Old  folks  —  lots  of  them  —  are  that  way,"  said 
Vance,  defending  him. 

"  Oh,  I  certainly  hope  we  won't  be  like  that,  when  we 
are  old,"  she  said. 

I  grinned.  I  couldn't  help  it  —  talking  of  old  age  for 
us,  and  all  the  world  around  us  full  of  death  and  danger. 

"  Just  as  sure  as  ever,"  I  said. 

"  Just  as  sure,"  said  Vance. 

And  then:  "Listen,  what's  that?"  she  said,  sitting 
straight. 


THE  HOUR  AFTER  MIDNIGHT 

He  seemed  to  have  got  up,  and  to  be  dragging  a  chair 
across  the  room,  slowly  —  very  slowly.  We  stepped  into 
the  hall,  and  stood  listening,  waiting. 

And :  "  Listen,"  said  Vance  again. 

For  suddenly,  again,  we  heard  that  little  bell  go, 
jangle,  jangle,  jangle,  in  the  cellarway.  Not  loud  at  all 

—  but  very  plain  from  where  we  stood. 

There  was  no  one  at  the  doors  —  not  a  soul.  I  rushed 
to  both  of  them,  in  just  a  second  or  .two.  At  the  front 
door,  nothing!  And  at  the  side  door,  old  Gen.  Sherman 
curled  up  in  a  dead  heavy  sleep ! 

And  back  I  went,  down  into  the  cellarway,  and  Vance 
after  me. 

And  overhead  again,  first  in  the  light  of  a  match  I  lit, 
and  then  by  a  candle  Vance  brought  out,  we  saw  the  four 
little  call-bells  in  their  row  against  the  back  of  the  stair. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  one  wire  coil  was  still  moving  — 
still  shivering  and  palpitating. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Vance?  "  I  said.  But  she  didn't 
answer. 

"  The  one  from  the  Purple  Room ! "  I  said. 

"  Let's  wait,"  said  Vance.     "  Maybe  it  may  start  again 

—  if  it  is  he  —  if  it  is  he  doing  it." 

So  then  we  stood  waiting,  watching  those  four  little 
dangling  bells. 

If  that  one  had  rung,  I  thought,  there  was  only  one 
way  that  it  could  happen.  By  that  little  dangling  wire, 
hanging  down  there  by  the  spring  from  which  it  had  been 
disconnected.  That  little  dangling  wire,  with  the  crook 
at  its  end,  where  once  it  had  been  fastened  on.  Then  all 
at  once  —  there  was  no  doubt  of  it.  We  saw  that  dan 
gling  wire  move,  slightly  —  very,  very  slightly  —  just 
enough  to  catch  that  vibrating,  sensitive  little  coil,  and, 

"  Jangle,  j  angle,  j  angle,"  went  the  call-bell  from  the 


272  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

Purple  Room,  there  in  the  half-shadow  from  over  our 
head. 

"  He  did  that,"  said  Vance.  "  It's  he  that's  been  do 
ing  it  all  the  time," 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  and  together  we  raced  back  again  to  the 
front  hall. 

Upstairs  my  Uncle  Hagar  was  dragging  something  — 
that  chair  again  across  the  room ;  slower  —  slower  — 
We  noticed  how  very  slow  he  went.  And  then, 

"  Bang !  "  it  toppled  over  the  floor. 

Then  I  waited  a  while  below,  while  Vance  went  tiptoe 
ing  up  the  stairs.  And  after  a  while  she  said,  there  were 
a  few  unsteady,  tottering  steps,  more  uneven  for  his  lame 
ness,  and  he  fell  heavily  again  upon  the  bed.  Then  she 
thought  she  heard  him  groan  very  low. 

I  was  with  her  in  a  second.  I  thought  I  had  heard  it, 
too. 

And  finally  she  spoke  to  him,  and  he  didn't  answer. 

But  he  did  groan  again  —  and  then  again.  And 
finally  he  spoke  out,  to  himself  —  not  her : 

"  My  head !  God,  my  head !  "  and  I  knew,  and  she  knew 
right  away,  what  had  happened. 

"  Get  back,"  I  said  to  Vance.     "  Get  back !  " 

And:  "  Can  you  open  the  door?  "  I  called  to  my  Uncle 
Athiel. 

"  I'll  manage  to,"  he  sAid,  painfully,  after  a  while. 

"  And  I'll  go  and  get  the  doctor,"  I  said  to  Vance. 

"Yes." 

I  went,  running.  It  was  only  just  a  little  ways;  and 
by  luck  I  found  the  doctor  there,  all  ready. 

And  he  came  right  out,  and  hurried  back  with  me. 
And  when  we  got  there,  the  door  was  opened,  and  my 
Uncle  Hagar  was  in  bed,  and  Vance  stood  there  beside  him 


THE  HOUR  AFTER  MIDNIGHT  273 

—  watchful,  pale,  and  steady  and  calm  as  if  she  had  been 
nursing  the  Yellow  Fever  all  her  life. 

"That's  it!"  said  the  doctor.  "He's  got  it;  that's 
the  Fever!" 

It  was  a  little  after  twelve  o'clock  —  that  hour  after 
midnight  —  when  the  Fever  nearly  always  came. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    WHISTLING    DOCTOR 

**^  •  ^HOSE  windows  are  all  closed!"  said  Dr. 
Greathouse,  looking  around  the  great  high 
JL.  room. 

I  told  him  when  he  asked,  that  we  had  never  changed, 
right  from  the  beginning.  We  had  closed  our  windows, 
all  through  the  house,  at  night  always,  at  sunset  —  since 
the  Fever  came.  And  he  nodded  his  head,  as  if  he  liked  it. 

"  But  I  don't  believe  you  can  stand  it  now,"  he  told 
me. 

But  when  he  went  to  open  the  windows  up,  my  Uncle 
tossed  and  motioned  and  whispered  to  have  them  closed 
again. 

"  I  can  stand  it,  I  expect,"  I  said.  "  If  I  can't,  I'll 
sit  out  in  the  hall." 

And  my  Uncle,  motioning,  showed  that  he  was  better 
satisfied. 

And  then,  after  that,  he  showed  us  there  was  another 
thing  he  wanted.  He  was  going  to  have  Vance  kept  out 
of  there ;  he  whispered  about  it,  but  not  very  plain,  for  it 
was  hard  work  for  him,  naturally.  So  the  doctor  cut  him 
short,  saying,  "  I'll  take  care  of  that." 

But  I  don't  believe  he  caught  entirely  what  my  Uncle 
Hagar  wanted.  He  thought  he  just  wanted  her  kept  out 
of  that  room  of  his.  But  what  he  really  wanted  to  have 
him  do,  was  to  send  her  out  of  town  entirely,  I  believe. 

And  every  time  he  saw  her  after  that  time,  he  got  worried 

274 


THE  WHISTLING  DOCTOR  275 

and  excited,  thinking  she  was  there,  and  he  had  kept  her 
there. 

But  that  made  no  difference  anyway.  The  doctor  him 
self  would  have  sent  Vance  if  he  could,  but  there  was  noth 
ing  he  could  do,  nor  I,  about  getting  Vance  to  go.  It 
was  no,  flat,  from  her,  from  the  first.  And  the  best  that 
he  could  get  was  to  make  her  promise  to  keep  away  from 
her  father  —  out  of  his  room  —  and  that  only  because 
she  saw  it  hurt  him  to  see  her. 

It  was  the  same  old  story  with  her;  her  weakness  was 
her  strength.  You  could  press  so  far,  but  when  she  re 
fused  to  give  way  —  when  she  still  fought  you  and  laughed 
at  you  —  what  was  there  you  could  do  ?  You  couldn't 
use  physical  force  to  drive  her;  you  couldn't  drag  her  off 
in  chains  and  irons.  So  there  she  was,  and  there  she 
stayed  in  spite  of  us  —  like  many  a  woman  has,  before 
and  since,  I  expect. 

And  so  finally,  the  doctor  got  ready  to  go.  And  I  was 
to  stay  and  watch  my  Uncle  myself,  for  that  night. 

"  I'll  send  you  a  nurse  along  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"  You  can't  do  it  all." 

Nursing  was  all  there  was  to  Yellow  Fever,  he  said, 
and  nobody  could  watch  twenty-four  hours  without  sleep. 

"  That's  the  one  thing  that  kills  them  —  their  nurses 
sleeping.  That's  the  one  and  only  thing  I've  got  against 
these  niggers  nursing.  They  just  can't  keep  from  sleep 
ing,  sitting  there  alone.  They  aren't  responsible.  For 
they've"  got  to  be  watched  —  these  Fever  patients  — "  he 
said,  "  every  minute.  They've  got  to  rest,  they've  got  to 
be  made  to  lie  perfectly  quiet." 

And  after  he  told  me  this  he  went  away  and  left  me 
there.  And,  as  I  watched  him  then,  he  looked  to  me  like 
a  man  who  had  no  business  to  be  out  himself  —  all  tired 
and  worn  out. 


276  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

So,  I  sat  there  alone,  in  the  great  Purple  Room,  and 
stayed  awake,  easy  enough  that  night.  Stayed  awake 
and  watched  the  faint  shadows  from  the  Purple  window 
draperies  against  the  wall,  and  the  darkness  and  twisted 
shadows  on  the  ceiling.  And  sat  and  gave  my  Uncle 
Hagar  what  he  needed,  and  thought  and  thought.  I 
wasn't  scared,  exactly,  now.  The  thing  was  done.  And 
now  the  Fever  was  in  the  house,  all  we  could  do  was  to 
wait,  with  the  chances  all  against  us,  as  we  thought.  For 
then,  of  course,  folks  didn't  know  what  caused  it. 

We  couldn't  go  now,  anyhow.  Those  old,  invisible 
ties  that  caught  us  there  and  bound  all  of  us  together  — 
were  stronger  than  they  ever  were  now.  Neither  Vance 
nor  I  could  go  away  now,  and  leave  the  old  man  sick 
there,  and  alone. 

And  so  there  was  really  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  sit 
and  wait,  with  the  chances  all  against  us.  Sit  and  wait, 
but  without  so  much  nervousness  or  excitement  as  you'd 
suppose.  Just  wait  with  that  same  kind  of  calmness,  I 
expect,  that  a  bird  has  lying  in  between  the  claws  of  a 
cat. 

I  thought  of  Vance,  naturally,  and  what  would  happen 
if  she  had  the  Fever.  But  I  couldn't  think  of  that  —  I 
couldn't  let  myself  think  of  that.  So,  partly  to  forget  it, 
I  turned  my  thoughts  to  that  other  thing,  that  other 
question  that  had  been  always  right  before  us  —  that  old 
secret  of  my  Uncle's  Property  —  of  "  Hagar's  Hoard." 
And  now  I  thought  of  it  more  easily  and  naturally  than 
ever,  because  of  what  had  happened;  because  I  sat  there 
in  that  room,  where  that  old  store  of  his  —  those  green 
backs  that  they  talked  about  —  was  kept,  if  it  was  any 
where. 

So  my  eye  went  searching  round  that  great  high  room 
for  places  where  it  might  possibly  be.  There  were  the 


THE  WHISTLING  DOCTOR  277 

purple  draperies  at  the  window,  and  the  canopy  over  the 
bed  —  all  with  their  letter  "  B  "  in  a  circle  of  gold  laurel 
leaves,  which  that  vain  fool,  Mr.  Bozro,  had  patterned 
after  the  great  house  he  had  seen  abroad  that  Napoleon 
had  had. 

But  after  you  looked  at  them,  they  seemed  like  a  poor 
place  for  hiding.  And  there  were  not  very  many  likely 
places  that  I  could  see  anywhere.  Except  the  bed,  nat 
urally  ;  or  the  great  thick  carpet  with  gold  threads  across 
it.  They  made  hiding  places  big  enough  for  anything  — 
and  common  enough.  Too  common,  I  believe,  for  him  to 
use  them. 

But  most  of  all,  right  away,  passing  over  everything, 
I  watched  and  examined  to  see  about  that  bell  that  he 
had  always  been  disturbing,  fussing  around  at  night. 
But  when  I  looked  at  it,  it  seemed  to  me  like  there  was 
nothing  to  see  there.  Just  this  flat,  old-fashioned  bell- 
rope  —  flat  like  a  tape,  a  tape  say  six  inches  wide,  with 
a  long  fringe  at  its  end;  and  at  the  top  a  round  brass 
ring  —  a  kind  of  ornamental  cap,  where  it  went  into  the 
wall.  It  seemed  the  most  unlikely  place  for  him  to  have 
hidden  anything.  He  might,  though,  I  said  to  myself, 
have  sewed  paper  money  into  the  long  tape.  But  I 
didn't  think  so ;  I  didn't  believe  it ;  it  was  somewhere  else. 

I  did  notice,  once,  looking  everywhere,  that  old  brown 
satchel  that  my  Uncle  Athiel  got  his  rents  in,  peeping  out 
from  underneath  the  bed  where  he  had  thrown  it,  I  expect, 
when  he  had  finally  made  up  his  mind  he  couldn't  go. 
But  when  I  leaned  over  and  looked  at  it,  I  saw  that  it  was 
open  —  gapiRg  open  with  nothing  in  it.  And  I  gave  the 
cursed  thing  another  kick  under  the  bed  and  forgot  about 
it. 

And  so  that  night  passed ;  and  morning  came,  and 
Vance  brought  in  what  breakfast  I  wanted  —  cooking  it 


278  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

herself,  of  course  —  for  the  servant  was  gone.  And  we 
settled  down  to  the  regular  ways  of  a  house  where  there 
is  sickness.  Sat  down  and  waited,  through  that  morning, 
for  the  doctor  to  bring  us  in  another  nurse. 

When  he  didn't  come,  at  first,  we  said  the  doctor  was 
having  trouble  —  like  he  said  he  would,  to  find  a  good 
one.  For  nurses  —  good  ones  —  were  almost  impossible 
to  get  now,  the  Fever  was  running  on  so  fast.  The  houses 
right  around  us  were  full  of  it ;  and  that  wasn't  even  a 
little  fraction  of  it  all.  I  sat  and  waited,  and  he  didn't 
come.  And,  finally,  when  my  Uncle  got  resting  a  little 
better,  sleeping  apparently,  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would  go 
and  see  what  was  the  matter.  It  was  just  a  little  ways 
anyhow,  and  Vance  could  watch,  out  in  the  hallway,  for 
my  Uncle  wouldn't  let  her  inside  anyway. 

And  so  I  went  over,  and  I  saw  Dr.  Greathouse,  for  the 
last  time. 

Uncle  Mungo  met  me  there  at  the  front  door,  with  his 
face  that  old  dead  shiny  color  that  the  darkies  get  in 
stead  of  getting  pale. 

"  He's  got  it,"  he  said,  half  whispering.  "  My  Mister 
Willy's  got  the  Fevah !  " 

It  gave  me  a  worse  start,  somehow,  than  when  I  knew 
my  Uncle  had  it.  I  had  just  only  seen  the  man  —  just 
those  few  hours  before.  He  must  have  been  already 
touched  with  it  then.  And  the  feeling  came  over  me, 
stronger  and  stronger  than  ever  before  — 

"  Everybody's  going  to  have  it.  We're  all  going  to 
have  it  now." 

I'd  given  up  the  hope  of  escaping.  And  there  was  the 
feeling  with  it,  not  so  much  of  being  scared,  but  just 
reckless. 

"  Well,  here  goes  !  "  you  said  to  yourself.  "  I'm  next ! 
Everybody  else  is  hit." 


THE  WHISTLING  DOCTOR  279 

And  yet,  all  the  time,  underneath,  you  hoped  you  might 
not  get  it  after  all.  Yourself  —  you  and  yours. 

I  went  right  in,  naturally,  to  where  he  was  —  in  that 
great,  low,  long,  old-fashioned  bedroom  of  his  on  the  first 
floor  —  all  tumbled  up  the  way  a  man  living  alone,  with 
out  women  folks  in  the  house,  leaves  things  —  and  his 
clothes  just  where  he  left  them  when  he  threw  them 
off. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  when  I  came  in,  with  as  much  of  his 
great  strong  voice  as  he  had  left.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  this?" 

It  was  a  pretty  light  case,  he  said,  so  far  —  only  — 

"  These  fat  ones  are  apt  to  have  it  kind  of  hard,"  he 
said,  and  tried  to  laugh,  and  couldn't  —  much.  He  was 
weak,  naturally,  and  it  hurt  his  head  too  much. 

And  when  I  asked  him  about  anything  that  I  could  do, 
he  said,  "  No,  nothing. 

"  I'll  doctor  myself,"  he  said,  "  mostly,  I  expect.  The 
rest  of  them  are  monstrous  busy  now.  I'll  doctor  my 
self.  And  Mungo  here'll  take  care"  of  me  —  and  pull 
me  out.  You  will  —  won't  you,  Mungo  ?  " 

"  Yassuh,  I'm  just  goin'  to  do  that,"  said  Uncle  Mungo, 
trying  to  smile. 

"  I  bet  on  you,  uncle.  And  not  the  first  time,  either !  " 
said  old  Doctor  Greathouse,  thanking  him  with  his  eyes. 

And  then,  when  I  started  to  go,  the  doctor  talked  and 
asked  a  minute  or  two  about  my  Uncle  Hagar.  He  made 
himself.  Told  me  about  a  nurse ;  and  what  doctor  he 
would  have;  and  said  he'd  see  we  got  them  there  himself, 
right  away.  For  the  doctor  was  coming  to  see  him  the 
first  minute  that  he  had;  and  he'd  send  him  right  along 
over  to  see  us. 

And  he  spoke  about  Vance,  and  said  we  certainly  ought 
to  get  her  away.  And  when  I  said  I  couldn't  get  her  to 


280  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

go,  he  said  he  expected  that  was  true.  Women  were  that 
way.  Naturally,  too. 

"  But  don't  give  up  too  much.  Don't  worry  too  much 
about  her,"  he  said.  "  This  Fever  is  a  .crazy  thing.  You 
can't  account  for  it.  It  comes  and  goes  when  it  wants 
to.  And  when  it  once  gets  you,  you  can't  tell  anything 
either.  A  great,  strong,  fat  animal  like  I  am,  is  in  a  lot 
more  danger  than  a  frail  little  nineteen  year  old  girl  like 
Vance.  You  can't  tell  why,  but  it's  so. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "  they  don't  know  anything  — 
they  don't  know  anything  about  it.  It's  just  as  much  a 
mystery  as  it  was  when  the  Pharaohs  lost  their  slaves 
from  it  in  Egypt." 

And  then  I  thanked  him,  and  told  him  to  stop  talking, 
and  got  up  to  go. 

But  he  managed  to  ask  me  one  more  question  before  I 
got  away. 

"  How  was  it  — "  he  said,  "  could  you  keep  your  win 
dows  closed  all  night  ?  " 

And  when  I  told  him  that  I  could  and  had,  he  thought  a 
minute  and  said  he  was  glad  I  did.  It  was  just  as  well. 

"  You  can  talk  all  you  want  to,"  he  said,  "  there's 
something  outside  there.  There's  something  there  in  the 
night  air  that  carries  that  disease."  And  he  waited  a 
minute,  looking  up  at  me  from  his  pillow. 

"  Something,"  he  said,  and  turned  restlessly  in  his  bed. 
"  Something.  God !  Sometimes  you  think  —  almost  — 
you  touch  it  almost  with  your  finger  tips;  and  then  it's 
all  gone  —  gone !  You  can't  quite  get  the  thing.  Lord ! 
How  I  wish  — " 

"  Lie  down,"  I  said.  "  You're  a  nice  one  to  talk  about 
lying  quiet." 

And  when  I  went  out,  and  all  the  time  I  was  sitting 
there,  I  was  seeing  those  old  fat,  sleepy  mosquitoes  up 


THE  WHISTLING  DOCTOR  281 

there  on  the  ceiling,  and  the  walls.  And  flies,  too  — 
bothering  him  then.  There  weren't  any  screens  with  us 
those  days.  I  wouldn't  have  noticed  the  mosquitoes,  I 
expect,  except  we  had  been  so  free  from  them  those  last 
few  days  —  those  days  of  the  Fever  —  with  all  the  win 
dows  closed  at  night.  It  was  the  only  thing  that  made 
the  great  hot  house  bearable.  And  once  we  had  the  mos 
quitoes  barred  out,  we  kept  it  pretty  free  of  them.  But, 
then,  of  course,  we  didn't  know  —  we  hadn't  any  idea  at 
all  —  what  it  really  meant. 

Uncle  Mungo  stood  there  waiting  for  me  when  I  went 
out. 

"How's  he  'pear  to  you?  How's  he  'pear  to  you?" 
he  asked,  mighty  anxious.  And  his  hand  was  a  little 
shaky.  The  old  nigger  was  getting  pretty  old. 

"  He'll  come  round,"  I  said,  more  cheerful  than  I  felt. 

"  I  'spect  so  —  I  'spect  so,"  said  Uncle  Mungo,  agree 
ing  with  me,  like  he  always  did.  "  He's  doctorin'  him 
self.  And  there  ain't  anybody  knows  more  'bout  the 
Fevah'n  my  Mister  Willy  does.  No  sir !  " 

His  voice  kept  getting  stronger  as  he  kept  saying  it  to 
himself.  But  he  was  still  pretty  scared  and  shaky.  He 
was  a  mighty  frail  little  old  darky;  I  don't  believe  he 
weighed  much  over  a  hundred  pounds. 

"  The  only  thing  that  keeps  o'botherin'  me,"  he  said,  low 
and  secret,  "  the  only  thing  worries  mc's  like  this :  Sup- 
posin'  sometime  he  went  out  of  his  haid.  Sposin' —  so  he 
couldn't  tell  me  just  what  to  do ;  and  I  was  left  here  alone 
some  night,  with  all  that  'sponsibility. 

"  It  sciahs  me.     It  sciahs  me,  thinkin'  of  it. 

"  'Fore  God,  Mr.  Beavis,"  he  went  along,  his  voice 
shaking  and  breaking  a  little  bit,  "  'fore  God,  I  rather  die 
and  be  buried  a  hundred  times,  than  have  anythin'  hap- 
penin'  to  my  Mister  Willy.  Or  have  anybody  else  to  — 


282  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

or  have  any  dozen  of  'em  to  die.  He's  done  more  good 
ness  in  this  town  than  any  hunded  folks,  ain't  he? 
There's  hundeds  and  hundeds  of  folks'd  miss  him  comin' 
whistlin'  down  their  street,  more'n  anybody  else  on  this 
yere  earth,  I  believe.  Yassuh !  " 

The  old  man  was  getting  too  excited.  I  told  him  he'd 
have  to  stop  it  —  and  tend  strictly  to  his  business. 

"  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  keep  him  still,"  I  said. 
"  That's  what  he  says  to  do  himself." 

"  Yassuh,  I  will,"  said  Uncle  Mungo.  "  But  sposin'  I 
was  left  alone  here,  and  sposin'  I  didn't  know  what  to  do 
and  he  got  aloose  from  me  all  alone  here  some  night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  stop  your  fretting,  Uncle  Mungo,"  I  said.  "  Quit 
your  worrying;  that  won't  happen.  He  ain't  so  bad." 

But  that  was  what  did  happen  —  just  exactly  what 
did  happen,  finally,  so  they  tell  me. 

And  all  around  me,  going  home  —  oh,  in  half  a  dozen 
places  maybe  —  I  either  saw  the  windows  open,  or  heard 
that  moaning  from  the  houses,  from  the  rooms  where 
they  were  down  with  the  Fever. 

It  lay  around  us  —  striking  down  one  head  after  an 
other.  There  it  was,  inside  that  old  house  of  ours.  I 
looked  up  from  under  the  house  when  I  got  there,  and 
saw  it,  ugly  and  dreary  —  in  that  bright  sunlight  —  with 
its  great  thick,  brick  walls,  and  its  brick  eyebrows  over  the 
windows ;  and  the  round  blind  windows  built  for  statues 
that  were  never  made,  and  the  old  Tower  in  front,  like  a 
great  old  gray  owl  over  the  sidewalk. 

And  there  it  was  —  the  Fever  inside  that  old  prison 
now,  inside  the  house;  and  we  knew  well  enough  what  it 
did  when  it  once  got  in  the  house. 

And  who  were  we  —  how  different  —  that  it  was  going 
to  miss  us? 

And  so  I  went  on  in,  slowly,  and  went  slowly  up  through 


THE  WHISTLING  DOCTOR  283 

the  empty  lower  hall,  and  found  Vance  sitting  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  Purple  Room. 

"  He's  got  it.  The  doctor's  got  it<  now,"  I  told  her. 
And  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  tears  came  into  my  eyes  a 
little.  I  had  to  cry.  He'd  been  a  mighty  !good  friend  to 
me  —  those  few  months. 

She'd  known  him  ten  times  as  long  as  I,  and  ten  times 
as  well.  But  she  didn't  let  go  of  herself  a  minute.  She 
smiled,  and  took  my  hand,  and  patted  it. 

"  That  doesn't  mean  he's  got  to  die,"  she  said.  She 
had  been  right.  She  wasn't  a  girl  any  more;  she  was  a 
grown  woman. 

"  Go,  Vance,  go !  "  taking  her  in  my  arms,  "  for  God's 
sake,  go !  We're  all  going  to  have  it.  We've  got  to. 
Everybody.  Go,  won't  you !  Go  !  —  when  you've  still 
got  the  chance." 

She  shook  her  head  and  put  me  away  from  her. 

"  He  seems  quieter,"  she  said,  looking  there  into  the 
Purple  Room,  where  my  Uncle  Hagar  lay,  dozing. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    BELL    ROPE 

THE  new  doctor  had  gone,  and  I  sat  there,  trying 
to  keep  awake.  Lord!  It  was  awful.  When 
there  was  a  chance,  the  excitement  of  the  chance 
of  going  away,  it  was  well  enough,  but  now,  with  that  all 
settled;  with  our  hope  of  leaving  gone;  now,  just  sitting 
there  in  that  sick  room,  it  was  something  monstrous. 
Especially  now,  when  those  locusts  got  going !  That  old, 
hot,  sleepy  song  of  the  locusts. 

I  opened  my  eyes  and  sat  up  —  and  my  Uncle  lay  there 
looking  at  me  —  with  a  little  brighter  look  than  he  had 
before. 

"  You  don't  know,"  he  said,  in  a  dull  kind  of  voice. 
"  Everything  went  wrong  with  me !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  for  an  hour  or  two. 

And  then  he  stopped;  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  say. 
And  those  cursed  locusts  went  on  grinding  out  there, 
putting  me  to  sleep. 

"  Twenty  years !  "  said  my  Uncle,  then.  "  Yes  thirty ! 
All  wrong ! " 

Then  he  didn't  talk  for  a  long  time  —  and  then  only 
slowly  —  as  if  his  mind  worked  slowly,  and  in  pain. 

But  it  seemed  to  me  like  his  mind,  just  as  soon  as  it 
came  back,  always  started  back  in  that  old  groove  where 
it  had  always  been. 

"  Don't  talk,"  I  said.     "  It  ain't  good  for  you." 

284       ' 


THE  BELL  ROPE  285 

"  There  was  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  one 
time,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel,  after  a  while,  "  that  I  could 
count  on.  Good  sound  property. 

"  Now,"  he  said  louder,  "  I  can't  count  more  than 
thirty  thousand !  "  and  he  tried  to  get  up. 

"  Lie  down !  "  I  said.     "  Don't  do  that  again !  " 

They  mustn't  talk  and  they  mustn't  move  at  all  —  like 
I  told  you.  It  kills  them  often  —  like  it  probably  did 
that  old  half-nigger  and  the  German.  But  after  that 
he  fell  back  —  for  he  was  jerked  back  by  the  pain  in  his 
head,  like  a  great  weight,  to  his  pillow. 

After  a  while,  when  he  got  his  strength  again,  his  eyes 
kept  open  and  were  on  me  —  his  face  lying  toward  me. 
And  it  seemed  to  me  now  —  though  I  may  only  have 
imagined  it,  thinking  afterwards,  on  that  fringed  bell- 
rope  beyond,  hanging  down  the  wall.  His  great  old 
hickory  cane  stood  there  beside  it,  and  somewhere,  I  knew, 
under  the  head  of  hir;  bed  somewhere,  was  that  old  time 
Derringer  pistol  that  lie  had. 

I  stopped  his  talking  for  the  time,  but  his  old  thoughts, 
waking  up  once  more,  I  expect,  just  started  boiling  in 
him  again. 

They  made  him  talk  for  a  while,  every  now  and  then  — 
in  spite  of  me.  In  a  way,  I  was  glad  of  it  —  it  kept  me 
from  sleeping.  But  I  couldn't  let  him  do  too  much,  just 
the  same. 

"  You  wouldn't  believe  it,"  he  said,  "  you  wouldn't  be 
lieve  it !  "  and  started  struggling. 

"  Lie  still !  "  I  said,  "  I  won't  let  you  talk  any  if  you 
do  like  that." 

"  First  there  was  that  damned  war,"  he  said,  lying  there 
with  those  little  black  eyes  on  me. 

"  You  know  that !  "  he  said,  after  a  little  longer. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  humoring  him,  "  I  know  that." 


286  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  And  then  those  banks  —  those  scoundels  —  those 
banks.  You  know  —  Judas  !  What  they  cost  me !  " 

I  nodded  at  him,  waiting  to  see  if  he  wouldn't  stop ; 
waiting  to  see  if  his  talk  wouldn't  just  run  out  of  itself. 

"  And  now  this,"  he  said,  "  this  town  ruined  — "  and 
started  moving,  and  stopped,  looking  at  me. 

"  You  wouldn't  believe  it,  would  you  ?  "  he  asked  me, 
staring.  And  I  told  him  I  certainly  would  not. 

And  for  a  while  he  stopped  again,  thinking  it  over,  and 
I  thought  he  might  be  resting. 

"  You  might  say  I  was  getting  too  old,"  he  started  on 
again,  "but  I  don't  believe  it  was  that  —  do  you?  I 
don't  believe  that  did  it  —  do  you?"  he  asked  louder  — 
when  I  didn't  answer,  getting  dull  and  drowsy. 

"  No,"  I  said,  sitting  up  again. 

"  No,"  said  my  Uncle  Athiel  louder,  "  no,  you're  right ! 
No,  sir !  No,  sir !  You  wouldn't  believe  it  if  I  told  you. 
One  thing  after  another  and  all  wrong  —  and  all  wrong ! 
And  you  couldn't  tell  —  not  one  single  thing  —  in  ad 
vance  ! 

"  Sometimes,"  he  said,  and  stopped  staring  at  me,  with 
a  meaning  look  —  feverish,  I  expect. 

"  Sometimes,  it  almost  seemed  like  there  was  something 
after  me !  Something  I  couldn't  get  quit  of  —  following 
me!" 

Then  after  that  he  waited  a  while.  The  work  of  think 
ing  and  talking  had  worn  him  down.  And  I  sat  there, 
listening  to  those  locusts  outdoors,  there  in  the  trees. 

"  Grind  —  grind  —  grind !     Grate  —  grate  —  grate !  " 

It  seemed  like  they  were  grinding  holes  in  my  brain, 
through  my  ears.  And  the  air  was  still,  and  hot,  and 
bad,  in  that  room,  naturally  —  and  nothing  moving,  but 
a  fly  sometimes,  buzzing  across  the  ceiling.  And  outside 
nothing,  either.  Nothing  but  those  damned  droning 


THE  BELL  ROPE  287 

locusts.  And,  as  far  as  being  afraid  —  as  far  as  being 
scared,  I  didn't  fear  anything  any  longer,  or  know  any 
thing,  or  hear  anything,  but  those  locusts,  putting  me  to 
sleep. 

Vance  looked  in  every  now  and  then,  and  I  sat  up  and 
appeared  the  best  I  knew  how;  and  prayed  that  nurse 
they  were  going  to  send  us  would  come  pretty  quick,  for 
I  didn't  see  what  I  could  do,  if  somebody  didn't  come 
along. 

My  Uncle  rested  for  a  little  while.  Then  he  went  on 
talking  more  —  now  and  then  —  about  his  Property, 
about  the  War,  about  his  losses  —  those  everlasting  losses 
he  had  made. 

He  cursed  the  War  —  both  sides  —  and  all  their  gen 
erals  ;  and  Jeff  Davis  and  Abe  Lincoln  both  —  but  es 
pecially  Davis,  and  the  money  —  all  that  Confederate 
money  they  left  folks  high  and  dry  with. 

God!  If  I  could  only  have  killed  those  locusts, 
outside  there,  grinding  me  to  sleep!  The  nurse  didn't 
come  and  didn't  come.  I  got  up,  and  walked  around 
—  as  quiet  as  I  could ;  and  went  out  and  doused  my 
self  with  water.  It  was  no  good  at  all.  Just  as  soon 
as  I  was  back  there  I  heard  that  old  droning  coming 
through  the  windows  of  that  old  hot  room! 

My  Uncle  Hagar  traveled  up  and  down  again,  in  his 
mind,  talking  over  what  he'd  done  and  lost.  He  talked 
about  Vance  a  while  —  and  started  blaming  her  for  stay 
ing. 

"  She  ought  to  have  gone.  She  ought  to  have  gone 
first,"  he  said.  "  She  always  was  a  delicate  child.  We've 
always  fussed  and  worried  for  her.  I'm  glad  she's  gone 
now.  She  ought  to. 

"  It's  different  with  me,"  he  said,  looking  toward  me 
again.  "  It's  different  with  me.  I  had  to  stay  here  to 


288  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

take  care  of  it  —  to  take  care  of  everything !  To  keep 
care  of  my  Property! 

"Didn't  I?"  he  asked  me. 

And  I  naturally  said,  "  Yes." 

"  I'm  glad  she's  gone,"  he  said  finally,  about  Vance. 

"  You  and  I  can  stay  here  now,  and  take  care  of  it. 
We'll  keep  our  eye  peeled!  We  got  to  keep  our  eye 
peeled  now,  you  understand,  for  fire  and  thieves!  For 
most  all  the  white  folks  have  gone  now  —  most  all  the 
rest  of  'em  have  gone !  This  town  is  full  of  thieves !  " 

I  had  to  quiet  him  on  that,  and  let  him  start  on  some 
thing  else. 

"  And,  as  far  as  Fever  goes,"  he  said  again,  trying  in 
a  funny  way  to  snap  his  fingers,  "  I  don't  give  that  for  it. 
I  don't  fear  it  any  more  than  I  do  sunstroke.  And 
there's  no  more  use  of  having  it." 

You  couldn't  tell  how  his  mind  was.  That  was  an  ex 
ample.  He  didn't  even  know  he  had  the  Fever,  appar 
ently,  and  yet  he  did  know  he  was  sick.  And  in  many 
ways  he  seemed  bright  as  anybody. 

He  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  too,  after  that,  that 
Vance  was  gone.  And  we  were  alone  there  —  we  two  in 
the  house.  I  know  he  lay  there  after  that,  for  a  while, 
looking  at  me. 

"  I  like  the  way  you  stood  by  me,"  he  said,  after  a 
while.  And  after  that  —  it  was  kind  of  funny  —  he  said 
something  again  about  lawyers  taking  care  of  Property, 
and  nodded  to  himself,  his  head  all  the  time  on  the  pillow. 
Then  after  that,  he  let  up  a  little  bit,  and  relaxed  himself 
and  got  sleepy,  and  shut  his  eyes. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  several  times.  "  O.  K."  And 
then,  afterwards,  just  before  he  went  off  to  sleep: 

"  I  got  something  —  I'm  going  to  show  you,"  he  said. 


THE  BELL  ROPE  289 

"Something  —  just  as  soon  as  I  get  my  voice  back. 
Just  as  soon  as  I  get  rested  up !  " 

And  he  looked  at  me,  then;  and  he  looked  at  the  wall 
back  of  me  —  I'm  sure  he  did,  where  his  old  cane  stood ; 
where  that  fringed  bell-cord  hung  down.  Looked  over 
there,  just  as  he  had  done,  I  expect,  every  night  since  he 
laid  there  in  that  great  room;  and  then  he  went  off 
quietly  to  sleep. 

I  just  remember  it ;  I  just  can  remember  it.  The  nurse 
hadn't  come,  and  wasn't  coming,  apparently,  and  those 
locusts  were  too  much  for  me.  The  next  thing  I  knew 
was  Vance  standing  at  the  door,  saying  she  would  stay 
outside  there  while  he  slept,  and  I  must  go  and  rest. 

I  went  —  I  had  to.  I  just  could  tell  her  that  he 
mustn't  see  her;  that  she  must  not  go  in,  for  his  sake  as 
well  as  hers,  and  I  started  off  to  my  own  room.  And 
when  I  got  there,  if  you'll  believe  me,  and  lay  down  —  I 
couldn't  sleep,  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink !  I  kept  seeing 
Vance  out  there,  and  worrying;  and  those  locusts,  those 
dry,  grating,  damned  locusts,  outside  there,  still  went 
grinding,  grinding,  grinding  on  my  bare  brain,  and  keep 
ing  me  awake! 

I  tried  for  a  while.  I  thrashed  and  banged  and  rolled 
around  —  then  I  got  up !  And  from  that  time  on  I 
changed.  I  didn't  want  to  sleep.  Those  locusts  going 
still  nearly  drove  me  mad  like  something  rasping  and 
grating  inside  my  skull.  But  I  didn't  want  to  sleep 
again.  I  just  had  no  desire  to.  I  had  no  desire  on  earth 
now  —  only  to  have  those  locusts  stop. 

My  Uncle  Athiel  was  asleep  still,  when  I  went  back. 
He  seemed  to  be  getting  along  well,  Vance  said,  sleeping 
quiet  and  restful. 

And  I  sat  there,  alone,  looking  around,  trying  to  keep 


290  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

my  mind  off  those  droning  locusts  —  and  off  from  Vance. 
My  old  continual  worry  about  Vance.  My  mind,  that 
had  been  so  dull,  now  got  just  wonderfully  clear. 

I  looked  at  my  Uncle  lying  there,  yellow  and  old  and 
gone,  I  believed;  as  good  as  gone,  anyhow.  And  I  saw 
him,  younger,  coming  down  from  the  hills,  in  those  old 
rough  pioneer  times  in  the  rich  new  country,  hunting 
this  thing  —  this  Property ;  this  money  of  his,  that  had 
turned  now,  these  twenty  years,  and  gone  hunting  him  — 
to  death. 

"  And  us  too,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  with  him."  For 
it  certainly  did  seem  that  not  one  of  us  had  much  chance, 
now.  And  yet  I  didn't  seem  to  care  much.  It  didn't 
seem  to  worry  me  at  all.  I  didn't  care  much  about  any 
thing  but  those  locusts. 

And  I  looked  around  that  great  room  —  and  its  fool 
fol-de-rols ;  and  I  thought  of  all  that  great  house  —  that 
old  silly,  self-advertising  of  that  dead  man,  that  he  was 
better  than  his  neighbors.  And  then  about  this  other  man 
who  followed  him. 

One  of  them  dead,  by  his  own  hand,  in  that  very  room. 
And  now  this  one,  too,  this  little,  common,  yellow,  old 
man  there,  tucked  in  under  that  great  purple  canopied 
bed  with  the  gold  laurel  wreaths  on  it;  dying  there,  most 
likely,  the  same  as  the  other  had  —  in  the  same  place,  and 
for  the  same  reason  —  for  Property  —  for  Money.  And 
when  I  went  over  it,  and  around  and  around,  it  certainly 
did  seem  crazy  enough  —  what  they  had  done.  That 
Money  folks  are  always  fighting  for  —  crazy  and  little 
and  strange !  With  that  Fever  out  there,  and  all  those 
people  dying  all  around  us  —  like  it  was  the  end  of  the 
world,  as  the  niggers  thought !  And  we  there,  waiting  — 
waiting ! 

I  watched  around  again,  after  that,  looking  around 


THE  BELL  ROPE 

the  room;  thinking  of  what  he  probably  had  there;  and 
then,  of  what  he  said  before  he  went  to  sleep,  that  he 
was  going  to  tell  me.  And  naturally,  then,  my  eye  went 
back  again  to  that  call-bell,  and  that  cord  to  it  that 
hung  down  there,  to  see  if  there  could  possibly  be  any 
thing  there  which  would  account  for  his  continual  fussing 
with  it,  and  his  looking  at  it  now.  Any  place  there  where 
he  could  hide  his  money,  if  he  had  it  there.  But  there  was 
nothing  I  could  see. 

That  cord  itself  —  that  big,  flat,  rough  purple  cord, 
would  hardly  be  a  hiding  place  —  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  then  —  though  of  course  it  might  be.  It  was  big 
enough  of  course,  to  have  bills  sewed  into  it  —  if  you 
wanted  to.  But  I  didn't  think  he'd  do  it.  It  was  too 
handy,  too  easy  to  be  looked  at.  And  at  the  top  of  it 
was  only  that  big  round  brass  cap,  or  ring,  where  it 
passed  up  above  there  into  the  wall. 

I  must  have  been  looking  up  at  it,  when  he  woke  up. 

I  saw  right  away  that  he  was  stronger  for  his  sleep, 
when  I  saw  him  waking;  and  I  noticed,  too,  that  with  his 
strength,  his  suspicious  ways  had  come  right  back  again. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  What  do  you  see  ?  "  he 
said,  in  a  cross  old  ugly  voice. 

"Nothing,"  I  said.     "Why?" 

"  Nothin',"  he  answered  me  in  his  turn,  and  didn't  talk 
any  more. 

Whatever  he  had  thought  he'd  show  me,  I  saw  then  he 
never  would. 

He  seemed  brighter,  a  lot  —  brighter  and  uglier. 

"  If  getting  better,  means  getting  uglier,  like  they  say 
it  does,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  he's  getting  along." 

He  kept  his  eyes  open,  after  that,  for  a  while,  a  good 
share  of  the  time ;  always  lying  there  on  his  side,  looking 
towards  me. 


292  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

He  felt  better,  himself,  too,  and  stronger,  I  believe,  for 
once  he  said,  I  remember,  looking  sharp  at  me: 

"  They  think  they  got  the  old  man.  They  think  they 
got  him,  but  he  ain't  through  yet !  " 

I  had  given  up  the  nurse's  coming  now,  for  the  present 
anyhow.  I  didn't  know  what  I  could  do  that  night,  if 
there  was  nobody  by  then,  but  I  thought  that  I  could  stand 
it.  Those  locusts  would  stop  anyhow.  Anything  if 
they'd  stop  going!  So  I  hung  and  stuck  it  out. 

He  got  restless  as  the  afternoon  went  on,  and  then  not 
so  ugly;  and  after  a  while,  when  you  could  see  the  sun 
was  sloping  down,  and  he  was  getting  tired  again,  you 
could  see  his  grip  on  his  mind  was  weaker.  And  he 
started,  once  or  twice  —  and  then  went  on  —  explaining 
again,  and  explaining  and  explaining,  his  life,  once  more 
—  and  his  Property  —  and  how  he  lost  it. 

He  was  friendlier  to  me,  as  he  got  tireder,  I  knew ;  ap 
pealed  to  me  now  and  then,  and  gave  me  advice  —  about 
getting  old;  about  Property. 

"  Don't  you  never  let  yourself  get  old,"  he  said,  "  never, 
without  something  put  by  to  take  care  of  you ! " 

And  then,  I  remember  too,  his  saying :  "  What's  an 
old  man !  Think  of  it  yourself !  Nothing,  nothing, 
more'n  what  he's  got.  That's  just  all!  Just  what  he's 
got. 

"Did  you  ever  see  'em?"  he  said  to  me.  "Did  you 
ever  see  'em  sitting  around  a  poorhouse  yard? 

"  God !  "  he  said,  "  you  didn't  know  it  —  but  my  own 
father  died  there  —  in  the  poorhouse !  There's  where 
your  folks  took  me  and  raised  me  from ! " 

It  made  him  worse,  thinking  of  it. 

"  Have  something  laid  away,  Beavis,  my  boy,"  he  said, 
advising  me,  "  and  be  mighty  careful  what  you  have. 


THE  BELL  ROPE  293 

Money  —  legal  money  —  that's  the  best.  I've  tried  'em 
all.  That's  best." 

His  mind  was  getting  cloudy  now,  I  expect.  "  That's 
the  be.st,"  he  went  along.  "  They  can't  get  it  away  from 
you.  They  can't  get  it  from  you  when  you're  old! 

"  Legal  money !  "  he  said,  getting  cloudier. 

"  But  keep  your  eye  peeled !  You  got  to  keep  your  both 
eyes  peeled !  All  the  time  —  all  the  time  when  you  get 
old." 

The  shadows  were  growing  longer,  from  the  trees  in 
back ;  evening  was  coming ;  those  locusts  in  the  trees  —  I 
expect  the  shadow  was  falling  on  them  —  were  running 
down.  Thank  God!  Thank  God!  It  was  like  passing 
into  heaven! 

He  didn't  talk  again;  he  went  to  sleep.  I  got  up  and 
looked  out  doors. 

It  had  looked  to  me  —  and  Vance  thought  so  too  — 
like  that  boy,  that  Saunders  boy  down  the  street  who  had 
been  moaning,  had  died  during  the  day.  And  I  could 
see  now  that  was  right.  Those  men  had  been  there  — 
the  undertakers  —  and  I  saw  the  pile  of  stuff  —  of  bed 
ding —  in  the  road  before  the  house. 

There  was  a  little  wind.  As  the  night  came  on,  it 
looked  a  little  like  a  thunder  ^torm.  A  little  wind  had 
started  up,  whirling  in  the  corners  —  papers  and  those 
little  old,  light,  dry  leaves  of  the  elm  trees.  And  the 
locusts  were  all  still  —  everything  dead,  exhausted,  still 
—  except  this  little  rustling  of  those  leaves  sometimes. 

My  Uncle  Athiel  roused  a  little,  grew  restless ;  and  once 
or  twice  he  whispered  that  pretty  soon  the  windows  must 
be  closed.  But  I  waited  —  just  as  long  as  I  could. 
That  breeze,  that  little  breeze  —  after  all  that  day  —  it 
was  like  a  spring  of  water  in  the  great  African  Desert. 


294,  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

I  don't  think  I  kept  them  open  longer  than  we  had 
before  —  I  don't  believe  I  kept  those  windows  up  any 
longer  than  I  should!  I  certainly  couldn't  have  known 
anyway ! 

But  while  I  turned  away  for  the  last  time  to  go  back 
into  the  room  and  look  at  him,  those  fools  outside  there 
had  lighted  up  the  Fever  fire  in  the  street,  right  there, 
right  under  our  windows.  I  didn't  see  it  —  not  at  all, 
until  it  was  too  late  and  the  fire  all  going. 

They  lighted  up  that  fire,  and  just  then  the  breeze  grew 
stronger  —  those  whirls  of  wind  that  spring  up  before  a 
thunder  shower.  It  was  blue,  and  darker,  and  it  seemed 
now  that  we  would  get  rain  at  last. 

The  wind  came  up,  and  came  whirling.  I  could  hear  it 
in  the  dry  trees.  And  before  I  knew  it,  the  puff  of  thick, 
black  smoke  came  blowing  in  the  window  —  and  a  leaf  or 
two  —  and  one  little  piece  of  paper. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  my  Uncle,  starting  from  his 
drowse.  "  What's  that  ?  "  and  sat  up  straight. 

And  I  jumped  my  fastest  for  the  window. 

But  not  quick  enough !     Too  late !     For : 

"Fire!"  cried  my  Uncle  Athiel.  "Fire!  Thieves!" 
and  yelling  and  crying  out,  he  jumped  up  on  his  feet, 
carrying  the  light  bedclothes  with  him;  and  stood,  and 
half-reached  and  half-stumbled  out;  and  pulled  at  that 
fringed  cord.  And  when  he  took  it  and  pulled,  the  thing 
gave  way  and  pulled  out  on  him  from  the  top. 

And  he  toppled  and  fell  upon  the  floor,  face  downward ; 
the  bellcord  in  his  hand ;  and  with  his  fall  came  the  sharp 
clatter  of  a  little  box  at  the  top  of  the  cord  —  a  little 
round  box  behind  the  round  brass  ring,  where  it  went  into 
the  wall  —  the  clatter  of  this  little  box  as  it  struck 
against  the  wall  and  on  the  floor.  And  with  it,  over  him 
as  he  laid  there,  came  down  this  shower  of  money  — 


THE  BELL  ROPE  295 

greenbacks,  packages  of  it,  and  some  of  it  just  loose  bills. 
And  it  lay  there  over  him  —  on  his  back,  and  his  head, 
and  even  on  his  outstretched  hands,  where  he  lay  there 
face  downward  on  one  hand,  with  his  sheet  upon  him  like 
a  shroud.  I  sprang  to  him ;  and  looking  over,  as  I  sprang, 
I  saw  the  figure  of  Vance  Hagar  looking  from  the  door 
way. 

And  I  knew  before  I  touched  him,  that  he  was  dead. 

I  don't  say  that  she  knew  exactly.  I  don't  pretend  or 
expect  to  explain  it.  I  don't  say  that  she  was  sure  be 
forehand  how  he  would  die.  I  only  just  can  tell  you  what 
I  saw.  But  he  lay  there,  Vance  has  told  me  a  thousand 
times,  exactly  as  she'd  seen  him  in  that  dream  —  one  hand 
under  his  forehead,  and  one  hand  outstretched. 

Of  course  you'll  say  they  died  that  way,  in  the  Fever, 
often  —  from  those  sudden  starts  like  that  —  and  of 
course  it  was  not  just  exactly  as  she  saw  it.  The  money 
wasn't  there  for  one  thing.  She  hadn't  seen  the  money 
in  her  dream. 

But  there  he  was,  at  any  rate.  Dead  like  she  had  seen 
him.  And  there,  over  him  and  around  him,  was  spread 
"  Hagar's  Hoard,"  the  remnants  of  the  old  man's  for 
tune,  that  he  had  fought  so  long  and  savage  and  ugly 
for. 

And  I  know  that  I  hope  that  I  shall  never  see  such  a 
sight  again.  Or  pass  such  another  night  as  that. 

It  had  killed  him  —  that  hoard  of  his  —  just  exactly 
as  much  as  if  it  had  drawn  him  in  and  strangled  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FUGITIVES 

THEY  came  for  him  that  night,  very  late  —  al 
most  midnight,  I  remember.  It  was  pretty  hard 
for  Vance  —  so  soon,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  that  way  —  and  that  one  lone,  tired,  white  man 
that  could  come;  and  the  dim  lights  of  the  hearse  out 
side  there,  waiting. 

She  couldn't  go  with  him,  of  course,  when  he  went  away. 
She  could  not  go  in  there  —  into  the  Purple  Room,  be 
fore  they  took  him.  I  saw  to  that. 

But  she  was  very  quiet  and  very  reasonable  about  it 
all ;  she'd  thought  it  out  herself. 

"  It  isn't  like  it  had  come  unexpectedly,"  she  said. 
"Like  I  hadn't  known!" 

So,  whatever  you  think  about  that  dream  of  hers,  it 
did  one  thing.  It  really  did  prepare  her  for  the  thing 
that  happened.  Nobody  can  deny  that. 

She  was  a  lot  more  quiet  and  reasonable;  and  cheerful 
too ;  a  lot  more  use  in  planning  what  to  do  next  than  I 
was.  She's  told  me  many  and  many  a  time  just  how  she 
felt  about  it.  She  had  given  him  up.  He  died  for  her 
that  night,  when  it  was  finally  settled  that  he  wasn't  going. 
And  now  there  was  only  just  one  thing  left  for  her  to 
think  of,  so  she  says  —  myself.  Women  are  so,  I've  al 
ways  thought  —  practical  in  their  feelings  —  the  best  of 

them.     Made  to  love  and  fight  for  us  that  are  living  — 

296 


FUGITIVES  297 

open  and  public ;  and  love  and  mourn  for  us  when  we  are 
dead  —  in  secret  by  themselves. 

And  so,  by  midnight,  it  was  all  over.  My  Uncle  Athiel 
had  left  his  old  brick  house  that  he  cursed  and  loathed, 
and  guarded  so,  forever.  And  the  next  thing  for  both  of 
us  —  we  both  understood  —  was  to  escape.  That  old 
Hoard  of  his  —  that  old  Succubus,  the  doctor  had  talked 
about,  had  held  my  Uncle  there  until  it  had  his  life.  Now 
that  he  was  gone,  the  question  was,  had  it  held  us  there 
until  it  had  our  lives,  too  —  or  would  have  them  both 
before  it  was  done? 

I  had  gathered  the  stuff  up  —  the  greenbacks  —  be 
fore  anybody  else  had  come  in  —  the  doctor,  or  any  of 
the  rest  and  crowded  it  into  that  little  old  brown  satchel 
of  my  Uncle's  —  that  I  remembered  seeing  under  the  bed. 
It  wasn't  counted  up  of  course.  All  I  did  was  to  crush  it 
in  there  —  into  the  bag.  But  there  was  a  lot  of  money, 
I  was  sure.  And  funny,  right  away,  it  made  me  scared 
and  nervous  —  the  responsibility  of  it !  I  kept  edging 
around  —  staying  around  the  place  I  had  hidden  it,  in 
my  room.  I  slept  with  it  that  night  —  that  early  morn 
ing —  beneath  my  pillow. 

When  I  woke  up,  I  remember,  my  neck  was  all  lame  — 
all  stiff  and  lame,  sleeping  with  the  thing  there  beneath 
my  head.  But  I  slept  just  the  same.  I  had  to  —  like 
lead.  And  I  woke  up  clear,  bright  as  a  dollar  —  ready 
to  fight  out  and  run;  get  Vance  out  of  town  somehow. 

She  was  ready,  now.  She  would  go  anytime.  We 
started  talking  of  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  when 
she  came  down  from  her  room. 

But  the  trouble  was,  now  we  wanted  to  go,  could  we? 
The  Fever  had  been  in  the  house,  now,  with  us.  We 
might,  more  than  likely,  have  it  coming  on  ourselves  — 
who  knew?  They  couldn't  cast  us  loose  into  any  other 


298  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

place  now  —  especially  now  with  the  whole  country  — 
with  places  right  around  there,  in  particular  —  up  in 
arms  against  Memphis,  like  they  were.  In  arms  really, 
too ;  "  Shot  gun  quarantines,"  in  every  direction  on  the 
roads  —  north  and  east  especially. 

And  it  was  going  to  be  mighty  troublesome  for  us  to 
get  out  of  town  by  railway.  I  could  see  that,  more  — 
even  than  by  the  roads.  They  could  watch  the  railroads 
closer. 

"  We  could  drive,"  said  Vance. 

What  we  wanted  to  do,  was  to  get  up  in  the  country 
—  up  into  the  middle  of  the  State,  where  my  folks  came 
from. 

"  Would  old  Dolly  stand  it?  "  I  said. 

"  Certainly,  she  would,"  said  Vance.  "  And  a  lot  bet 
ter  than  leaving  her  back  here !  ' 

"  It  wouldn't  take  us  but  a  week  or  so,"  she  said,  ex 
plaining.  "  We  could  go  south,  where  they  aren't  so 
careful  —  Toward  where  they've  had  it  themselves,  and 
then  turn  —  turn  east  gradually." 

"  We  could  try  it,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  we  must,"  said  Vance,  jumping  up.  "  Let's  go 
out  and  look  at  Dolly  now." 

So  we  went  out  there  to  the  old  barn  together  —  to 
where  the  old  horse  was.  She  looked  right  well;  she 
hadn't  had  a  thing  to  do  for  all  those  days.  And  when 
Vance  came  in  —  with  sugar  in  her  hand,  like  she  usually 
did,  the  old  mare  turned  her  head,  and  whinnered  at  her. 

And  Vance  stepped  in  her  stall,  feeding  her.  And 
directly  she  put  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  kissed 
her,  and  cried  a  little  —  thinking  of  her  father,  I  expect, 
and  stopped  right  away  again. 

When  we  came  out  together,  walking  back  to  the  old 
house  —  I  remember,  I  said  to  her : 


FUGITIVES  299 

"  But   even   south   they   have  those   *  shotgun  quaran 
tines,'  out   on  the   roads.     Supposing,  supposing,  right 


awaJ>  Jou  ran  across  one." 

For  most  of  them  —  of  those  places  around  —  were 
deadly  against  Memphis  the  first  few  weeks. 

"  Suppose  you  did,"  I  said.  "  You  might.  Suppose 
you  ran  across  such  a  town  the  first  thing  where  the 
roads  were  barred." 

"  That's  just  the  town  we  want,"  said  Vance,  and 
looked  at  me. 

"Want!"  I  said.  "Why?  How'd  you  get  in?  If 
you  met  one  of  those  guards  of  theirs,  how  would  you 
get  in?  " 

"  Oh,  we'd  get  in,"  said  Vance. 

"  No,  I  want  to  know,"  I  said.     "  What'd  you  say?  " 

"Say?"  said  Vance. 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  I  want  to  know  before  we  start. 
There's  no  use  going,  and  getting  held  up  right  away. 
Do  you  know  one  thing,"  I  went  along,  "  that  you  could 
say  to  get  us  out  with?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  —  I  believe,"  said  Vance. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  kept  on  asking  her. 

"  If  I  met  a  guard,"  said  Vance,  slowly  —  "  If  we  do 
meet  one,"  she  said  —  "  the  first  thing  I'd  do,  I  think,  be 
fore  he  said  anything  —  I  believe  I'd  ask  him  if  they  had 
the  Fever  there  —  first.  I'd  ask  him  that,"  she  said, 
"  before  he  could  say  a  word  to  me  !  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     «  Then  what?  " 

"  And  then,  right  away,  before  he'd  get  after  us,"  she 
said  —  and  stopped  a  minute.  "  You'd  ask  him  for  a 
minister  !  " 

"  A  minister  !  "  I   said  —  my  heart   starting  going. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  wouldn't  look  at  me  —  and  started 
talking  on  again. 


300  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

"  We'd  tell  him,"  she  went  on  —  talking  a  little  faint, 
but  like  a  person  who's  saying  something  that  they  learned 
by  heart.  "  If  we  had  to  —  I'd  tell  him  —  you'd  tell 
him !  "  she  said,  turning  those  big,  deep,  honest,  childish 
eyes  of  hers  on  me  at  last  and  dropping  them  right  away 
again,  "  that  we  were  running  away  to  get  married.  And 
we  didn't  want  to  tell  him  where  we  came  from." 

"  Get  married ! "  I  said,  my  old  heart  battering  at  my 
ribs,  urging  me  forward.  And  my  old  pride,  still  holding 
me  back.  "  Get  married  —  we  can't.  I  can't  do  that. 
You  know  I  can't.  I  haven't  got  a  dollar.  I  haven't 
any  money  in  the  world !  "  I  blundered  out. 

"  I  have,"  said  Vance,  her  eyes  on  mine. 

"  That's  it !  "  I  said. 

"  Monty !  "  said  Vance.     "  What's  money !  " 

"  A  good  lot,"  I  said,  and  thought  right  away  how 
funny  it  was  —  after  all  my  cursing  of  it. 

"  Now?  "  said  Vance,  still  looking  at  my  eyes. 

I  didn't  answer  her. 

"  Between  us  ?  "  she  said,  coming  nearer. 

There  was  no  use  arguing  —  and  holding  back  with 
her.  My  old  pride  was  no  use.  I  had  her  in  my  arms 
right  away. 

"  That's  settled,"  said  Vance  —  staying  there,  still. 

It  would  be  much  better  of  course;  in  a  way,  it  was 
almost  forced  on  us,  you  might  say,  by  our  running  off 
that  way  we  did  together. 

"  You  see,"  said  Vance,  moving  and  looking  up,  after 
a  while,  "  you  see,  it  would  be  kind  of  a  passport  —  being 
married  in  a  place  like  that ;  where  they  were  very  strict 
against  the  Fever  —  wherever  everybody  knew  they  didn't 
have  it !  Why,  the  certificate  from  there,  when  we  went 
along  —  you  see,  the  certificate  from  there  — " 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  I  said,  kissing  her. 


FUGITIVES  301 

"So  then,"  she  said,  after  a  little,  "  we'll  go  —  to 
morrow  morning,  early.  And  we  can  take  that  old  leather 
trunk,  that  smallest  one." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  my  pulse  racing  up  again. 

And  so  I  went  out  to  do  my  part,  getting  ready. 

You  wouldn't  believe  how  burdensome  it  was  —  that 
money  —  now  I  had  it.  How  hard  it  was  to  decide  what 
to  do  with  it. 

I  thought  first  that  I'd  put  it  in  the  bank  —  leave  it 
there.  Then  I  couldn't  —  I  couldn't  do  it.  All  that 
talk  of  my  Uncle's  against  banks  wouldn't  let  me.  Be 
sides,  I  was  nothing  but  a  boy  anyhow.  What  did  I  know 
about  banks  myself?  So  finally  I  decided  I'd  just  take 
it  with  me  —  where  I  could  keep  my  eyes  on  it.  Then 
I'd  know. 

There  was  thirty  thousand  dollars  of  it  —  just  about, 
I  had  counted  it,  finally  that  morning  roughly.  And 
afterwards  I  found  I  was  right.  It  was  about  that;  and 
that  was  all  there  was,  I  believe.  I've  had  folks  say  to 
me  since,  if  I'd  only  look  further  —  in  other  places ! 
They  think  there  was  somebody  else  in  the  house  after 
wards  —  got  more.  They  say  there  was  more ;  that  there 
must  have  been !  But  I  never  thought  so.  I  knew  what 
my  Uncle  said  about  it,  that  last  day.  And  I  don't 
think,  knowing  him,  he'd  have  it  anywhere  else,  anyhow. 
It  would  all  be  right  there  —  where  he  could  watch. 

But  then  for  that  matter,  thirty  thousand  dollars  un 
der  my  hand  there  at  night,  in  bills!  A  million  dollars 
wouldn't  worry  me  so  now. 

Then  there  was  the  house  too.  You  wouldn't  believe 
how  careful  I  was  in  leaving  that  house,  how  I  went  over 
everything  with  John  McCallan,  leaving  it. 

"  Remimber  this,  sor,"  said  John,  "  I  never  saw  you 
go.  I  never  knew  you  left  the  town,  out  of  a  house  with 


302  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

a  faver  in  it!  How  long  would  they  kape  me  on  the 
force  if  they  knew  it !  " 

"  Don't  fret  about  that,  John,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't,  sor,"  said  John.  "  Not  a  nickel's  worth. 
And  if  I  did,  'twould  make  no  difference.  I'd  get  that 
little  girl  of  yours  out  o'  here,  if  it  cost  me  my  job  on  the 
force  this  evening." 

"  God  bless  you,  John,"  I  said.  "  I  wish  that  you 
were  going  too." 

"Me!"  said  John. 

"  There's  plenty  of  them  have  gone,"  I  said  — "  police, 
and  doctors,  and  ministers,  too." 

"  I  know  that,  sor.  An'  I'm  very  sorry  to  have  t'  say 
it  t'  you.  I  know  that,"  said  John,  standing  square 
footed  in  front  of  me.  "  But  me !  "  he  said,  and  stopped. 
"  Lit  me  ask  you  somethin',"  he  said :  "  If  I  got  away 
now  from  here  —  from  what  I  have  to  do  here.  If  I  got 
away  and  saved  myself,  why  then  —  after  thot,  where'd 
I  spend  the  rist  of  my  days  ?  Where'd  I  go  —  what'd  I 
be  after  thot?  Let  me  ask  you  thot!  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John  —  and  shook  his  head. 

"  But  you  can  go,"  he  said,  "  and  they'll  all  be  better 
off  to  have  you  goin'.  All  the  white  folks  that  can," 
said  John,  "  have  their  first  duty  to  git  away  from  here. 
For  them  that  stays'll  git  it  now,"  said  John.  "  Make 
up  your  mind  to  thot.  All  thim  that  stays'll  only  feed 
the  Faver.  They'll  all  have  it.  And  most  of  'em  will 
die.  This  ain't  no  Yeller  Faver  now.  It's  some  old 
plague,  some  black  plague  they  used  to  have  in  them  old 
times,  come  back  again." 

We  thought  that  —  ourselves,  now  —  that  we'd  have 
it,  all  the  white  folks  that  stayed  —  we'd  got  to  think 


FUGITIVES  303 

that  way  ourselves,  now  —  that  every  white  man  there 
was  going  to  die.  And  it  did  seem  worse  and  different 
from  the  Yellow  Fever,  they  said.  The  dead  wagons, 
droning  by  us,  fuller  every  day;  the  folks  around  us  go 
ing  down  —  the  folks  we  knew ;  the  poor  folks  laid  away 
in  the  trenches  in  the  graveyard ;  and  the  niggers  burying 
them  all  night  —  just  eating  there  and  sleeping  there, 
and  burying  them  —  with  those  tar  fires  going  around 
them  night  and  day. 

It  seemed  natural  to  expect  then  there  was  no  stopping 
it  at  all.  It  did  seem  that  finally  it  would  get  us  all  — 
all  the  white  folks  anyhow.  And  why  not  us  too,  like 
the  rest  —  and  especially  now  it  had  been  there,  in  our 
own  house  with  us.  The  only  thing  for  us,  we  knew,  was 
to  go  if  we  could.  But  could  we  —  could  we  get  away 
before  it  took  us?  And  hadn't  one  of  us,  or  both,  right 
then,  in  our  blood,  the  poison  of  that  Fever? 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  Vance,  I  believe  —  if  Vance  hadn't 
been  so  sure,  I  don't  expect  I'd  have  taken  the  chance  of 
going  off  just  that  way  we  did;  not  knowing  but  it  might 
strike  us  later  on  the  road,  maybe. 

But  I  don't  know  —  I  might  have  too.  I  was  pretty 
young  and  venturesome  those  days. 

And  anyhow  we  packed  up  that  night  to  go  —  what 
clothes  we  could  and  we  took  along,  too,  a  couple  of 
blankets  —  two  old  army  blankets  —  so  if  we  wanted  to 
—  if  they  wouldn't  take  us  in,  we  could  just  camp  out 
doors  somewhere,  if  we  had  to. 

It  was  clear  weather,  calm,  perfectly  clear  and  bright. 
And  we  weren't  the  only  folks  that  had  done  it  that  year, 
I  expect.  But  it  was  Vance  who  thought  to  plan  it  first, 
as  usual. 

"  If   there   should  be   the   Fever   anywhere  —  or  they 


304  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

wouldn't  take  us  in,  we  could  camp,"  she  said.  "  We 
could  go  into  some  farmhouse,  if  it  is  better;  or  we  could 
camp." 

Lord,  how  still  it  was  when  I  woke  up  that  next  morn 
ing  —  before  the  dawn.  And  stole  out  into  the  yard, 
just  after  daybreak,  and  harnessed  up  the  horse. 

And  then  full  daylight  —  the  sun  up  long  enough  to 
purge  all  that  old  imaginary  Fever  poison  from  the  air, 
and  we  started  out,  to  go  out  of  the  city,  going  out  south 
first !  And  my  Uncle's  house  —  old  Grummit's  Bank  — 
with  its  old  tower,  and  its  old  heavy,  slate  covered  mass  of 
brick  walls,  locked  and  empty,  back  of  us.  And  ahead  of 
us,  the  empty  city. 

An  empty  city  —  not  yet  awoke.  Vacant  now  even  in 
the  middle  of  the  day.  A  city  without  children  or  women 
to  be  seen,  or  the  shadows  of  any  living  things  moving 
on  the  streets.  And  then,  that  time  of  morning,  nothing 
at  all  but  stillness  and  closed  windows,  and  blank  faced 
houses  staring  on  the  street.  All  motionless  —  just 
everybody  gone;  or  out  of  sight.  Doctors  and  nurses, 
even,  and  sick  too,  mostly  —  tired  out,  exhausted  at  the 
last  spent  ending  of  the  night. 

All  empty  —  the  whole  town.  And  in  one  place  on  the* 
main  street,  I  remember,  especially,  seeing  a  great  squash 
vine,  an  old  frail,  flimsy  squash  vine,  had  grown  up,  and 
trailed  along  the  curbing  of  the  street,  beside  the  side 
walk,  and  still  went  there  living  and  uncrushed,  and  oats 
were  growing  up  in  any  number  of  places  on  the  streets. 

We  were  very  lucky,  very  lucky,  going  then.     We  could 
not  have  picked  out  an  hour  of  the  day  that  was  safer  — 
when  we  were  less  expected  than  in  that  early  morning 
time  when  we  went  jolting  out   at  last   into   the   rutty, 
dusty,  red,  old  country  roads. 

We  were  very  lucky.     We  were  through  two  towns  — 


FUGITIVES  305 

and  were  getting  into  a  third  one  —  driving  east  already, 
and  a  little  to  the  north  —  before  there  was  anybody  held 
us  back  at  all. 

There  was  a  man  then  in  the  road  —  a  fat  man  — 
with  a  gray  mustache,  that  jumped  out  of  the  bushes,  at 
the  side  of  the  road  —  suddenly,  like  he  might  have  been 
sleeping  —  and  trailing  an  old  single  barrel  shotgun  after 
him. 

Lucky  for  us  again,  he  was  on  Vance's  side  of  the  old 
buggy. 

He  looked  at  her  a  minute  —  where  she  leaned  out  to 
ward  him,  looking  eager  —  then  drew  his  eyes  away,  and 
started  out  to  talk  to  me. 

"  Good  morning,"  Vance  said  to  him  —  first. 

"  Good  mornin',  ma'am,"  said  the  fat  man,  most  polite, 
taking  his  hat  off  very  low,  and  he  looked  back  at  her. 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  Vance,  in  that  big,  wide-eyed,  child 
like  way  of  hers  —  like  she  was  very  hurried  and  excited 
and  scared,  "  will  you  tell  me,  please,"  she  said,  her  voice 
shaking,  "  have  you  got  the  Fever  here,  sir,  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  the  fat  man,  standing  there,  look 
ing  with  his  gun  pointing  at  his  stomach.  "  No,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  you  just  don't  know  how  glad  I  am,"  said  Vance, 
sighing  —  still  watching  him  with  those  great  eyes  of 
hers.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  was  so 
scared  we  might  be  going  to  some  place  where  they'd  had 
that  terrible  old  Fever. 

"  They  say  it's  terrible,  just  terrible  there  in  Mem 
phis  !  "  she  said,  looking  at  him. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  yes,  ma'am,  we're  keeping  watch  of 
that !  "  said  the  fat  man,  standing  straighter. 

And  then: 

"  Beavis,"  said  Vance,  but  not  taking  her  eyes  from  him 
at  all.  "  Beavis,"  she  said,  looking  quick  at  him,  and 


306  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

back  again,  "  I  wonder,  Beavis,"  she  said  to  me,  blushing, 
"  if  this  gentleman  wouldn't  help  you  —  help  us !  " 

"  Anything,  ma'am,"  said  the  fat  man.  "  Anything  I 
can,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  then,  sir,"  I  said,  "  you  certainly  can.  You 
can  show  us  where  the  nearest  parson  lives." 

And  I  looked  at  him  a  minute  and  he  at  me ;  and  then 
we  laughed,  we  both  laughed  —  and  Vance  laughed  with 
us,  blushing. 

So  he  showed  us  where  the  minister  lived ;  and  we  went 
along,  Vance  thanking  him.  I  didn't  look  back  at  all  — 
I  didn't  dare  to.  But  Vance  did,  once. 

She  said  he  wasn't  looking  when  she  looked.  He  stood 
there  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  thinking,  looking  down. 

I  remember  the  minister  —  when  we  first  saw  him;  a 
tall,  old,  stringy  codger,  with  one  of  those  old  long  beards 
those  country  ministers  used  to  wear  those  days,  some 
times.  It  was  quite  early  in  the  morning  yet;  he  was 
out  hoeing  in  his  garden,  I  remember  —  shirtsleeves  and 
galluses,  and  carpet  slippers  on  his  feet.  We  had  to 
wait  while  he  dressed  up.  I  remember  how  wet  and  slick 
his  hair  was,  and  how  his  old  white  tie  stuck  out.  When 
we  came  to  pay  him,  I  know,  I  had  to  pay  him  in  those 
old  "  shin  plasters."  I  had  found  quite  a  lot  of  them 
in  some  of  the  drawers  of  my  Uncle's  old  secretary  —  the 
only  other  money  that  I  found. 

There  was  nothing  in  between  those,  and  those  great 
bills  in  the  little  box  at  the  end  of  the  bell-rope  —  those 
packages  of  big  bills  in  Hagar's  Hoard.  And: 

"  We  can't  give  him  a  hundred  dollars,"  said  Vance. 

For  that  was  the  smallest  we  could  find. 

I  remember  the  old  man  looking  down  at  that  great 
fist  full  of  those  old  "  shin  plasters  " —  and  I  stammering 
and  apologizing. 


FUGITIVES  807 

"  I  ain't  seen  any  of  those  for  a  number  of  years,"  he 
said,  watching  them. 

He  wasn't  quite  sure,  I  expect,  whether  they  were  good 
or  not. 

So  then  we  went  along,  Vance  and  I,  man  and  wife, 
driving  out  in  that  hot  summer  morning.  The  red  dust 
inches  deep  on  the  road,  the  old  locusts  still  crying  in  the 
trees,  and  the  woods  dry  and  rusty,  and  yellowing  toward 
the  fall.  And  the  persimmons  tree  standing  golden  in 
the  fields. 

We  went  on  and  on,  through  those  old  country  roads, 
Vance  and  I  —  in  that  old  high  buggy,  with  that  little 
leather  trunk  strapped  somehow  on  behind.  And  Dolly 
poking  on  along ;  and  I  with  that  old  satchel  of  my  Uncle's 
—  with  Hagar's  Hoard  in  between  my  feet  —  guarding  it. 

You've  got  no  idea  how  that  thing  bothered  me  and 
kept  me  watching.  I'd  got  me  a  Colt's  pistol  that  day 
before  —  a  real  pistol,  not  that  old  Derringer  my  Uncle 
had.  And  everybody  that  came  along  got  a  sharp  look- 
ing-over  from  me,  now,  let  me  tell  you. 

But  the  main  thing,  of  course,  that  I  never  could  for 
get,  was  the  Fever  —  and  Vance.  Did  we  have  it  ? 
Were  we  carrying  out  with  us  that  old  Fever  poison  in 
our  blood? 

We  rested  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  or  Vance  did,  after 
eating  lunch,  at  the  edge  of  a  grove  —  one  of  those  old 
high  groves  we  have  in  our  country,  with  the  soft  fine 
grass  under  them ;  and  the  big  high  lofty  space  below  the 
branches.  Vance  rested,  and  I  sat  and  kept  my  eye  — 
kept  my  eye  on  Hagar's  Hoard  —  and  thought  about  its 
first  owner,  and  his  constant  watching,  while  I  did. 

I  thought  quite  a  lot  of  him,  then  —  my  Uncle  Hagar 
as  I  was  sitting  there.  And  what  he'd  done  with  his  own 
life ;  and  of  his  money,  and  what  he  said  to  me  that  last 


308  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

day  —  that  yesterday  that  seemed  so  far  away  already. 
And  especially  I  kept  hearing  him  telling  about  old  men. 
What  they  were. 

"An  old  man  —  what's  an  old  man?"  I  kept  hearing 
him,  "  nothing  but  what  he's  got !  Nothin'.  Nothin'  but 
what  he's  got !  " 

And  if  that  was  so,  I  kept  thinking,  there  was  all  that 
time  left  of  him  to  be  remembered  —  that  mussy  wad  of 
greenbacks  in  that  little  old  handbag  of  his,  beside  me. 
And  when  I  did  get  thinking  of  it,  I  knew,  already,  there 
was  no  great  grief  or  memory  of  him  in  me  —  and  I  was 
sorry  and  ashamed.  But  it  was  true. 

Already  those  days  of  Fever  —  that  monstrous  yester 
day,  were  fading  from  me.  I  was  tired  out,  I  expect, 
just  weary  with  the  awfulness  of  it,  till  at  last  the  feeling 
had  just  dropped  off  of  me.  And  every  step  we  went,  the 
hot  golden  weather  and  the  soft,  hot,  lazy  silence  of  the 
day  rose  and  rose  around  us,  and  washed  the  memory  of 
all  that  —  the  Fever  and  the  dead  man  from  my  mind.  I 
was  forgetting  it,  for  I  expect  I  was  sleepy,  and  tired  and 
happy  again.  Yes,  very  happy! 

"  If  only  now  we  have  escaped  it !  "  I  said  to  myself, 
with  a  start.  And  it  seemed  then,  for  the  first  time,  to 
me,  that  maybe  we  had.  I  had  that  feeling  beginning 
then.  That  maybe,  by  our  good  luck,  by  accident,  some 
how,  we  had  escaped  it. 

And  when  it  came  to  me,  when  I  thought  of  it,  I  started 
somehow  almost  believing  it.  And  suddenly  I  leaned  over, 
from  where  I  sat,  my  back  against  a  great  tree,  leaned 
over  Vance  and  kissed  her,  where  she  lay  peacefully  asleep, 
resting  on  one  of  those  old  army  blankets  we  had  brought. 

And  then,  along  toward  evening,  we  went  along  again, 
drove  along  through  two  or  three  more  towns  —  around 
them  rather,  when  we  could.  They  didn't  make  us  any 


FUGITIVES  309 

trouble  with  their  quarantines  —  only  in  one  place.  And 
then  we  just  showed  the  guard  our  certificate  from  this 
place  where  we'd  been  married  —  when  he  started  argu 
ing.  And  left  him  there  behind  us  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  laughing.  But  that  was  all ;  nobody  bothered  us 
after  that ;  and  the  further  away  we  got  from  Memphis, 
naturally  the  easier  for  us. 

It  was  seven  days  —  six  days  and  a  half  in  all.  For 
we  got  through  of  course ;  we  were  safe.  We  didn't  have 
the  Fever,  of  course  —  by  the  grace  of  God,  it  all  came 
right  for  us. 

Good  luck  it  was  principally,  I  expect  —  the  luck  that 
young  folks  have  somehow.  It  was  youth  of  course;  and 
that  great  house  that  saved  us  —  that  great  old  house, 
and  the  shutting  out  of  the  Fever  at  night  —  of  the  things 
we  didn't  know  that  went  carrying  death  around  at  night. 
How  foolish  we  would  have  thought  it,  if  they'd  tried  to 
tell  us  what  it  was  then  really.  And  yet  we  saved  our 
selves  by  what  we  did  —  not  knowing  why.  And  many 
thousand  folks  besides  us,  too,  I  have  no  doubt,  one  time 
and  another,  with  that  old  time  custom  of  fearing  the 
night  air  —  the  night  air  and  its  poison,  out  beyond  the 
other  side  of  the  closed  windows. 

Yes  —  anyhow  —  we  escaped  —  Vance  and  I  — 

That  afternoon,  I  was  telling  you  about  —  that  first 
afternoon  — ! 

We  stopped,  I  remember  after  a  while,  at  a  farm  house, 
thinking  to  get  a  bite  to  eat;  thinking  maybe  if  it  was 
good  and  clean,  that  we  might  ask  to  spend  the  night 
there.  But  after  supper,  Vance  shook  her  head  at  me,  and 
I  didn't  ask.  It  wasn't  a  very  pleasant  place  to  think  of 
stopping  at.  There  aren't  very  many  in  that  back  coun 
try,  like  that  was. 

So  we  went  along  —  we  drove  ahead  —  and  the  shadows 


310  HAGAR'S  HOARD 

got  right  long  at  the  eastern  edges  of  the  woods.  The 
sun  was  going  —  and  there  would  be  a  moon,  Vance  said. 

We  went  by  quite  a  number  of  those  farms,  with  their 
bare,  trodden  yards,  and  barns  and  corn  cribs  —  the  dogs 
and  pigs  and  chickens  —  unclean,  ugly  —  more  like  lairs 
of  animals  than  homes  of  men. 

The  rusty  sun  got  lower  and  lower  back  of  us,  and  the 
great  still  yellow  moon  swam  up  into  the  old  violet  col 
ored  sky  above  the  eastern  trees. 

"  It's  getting  late,  Dear  Heart,"  I  said.  "  We've  got 
to  decide  what  we're  going  to  do  —  pretty  quick." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance,  and  sighed  and  was  still. 

We  rode  in  long  stillnesses,  with  the  squeak  of  the 
traces,  and  the  grating  and  filtering  of  the  dust  from  the 
buggy  wheels.  And  the  freshening  smell  of  evening  in 
the  air. 

"  I  don't  expect,"  said  Vance,  at  last,  "  we'd  better  try 
to  look  at  any  more  of  those  farmers'  houses.  They're 
all  so  crowded  —  so  unpleasant.  All  these  strangers  — " 

And  she  stopped,  and  we  were  still  again.  Everything 
on  earth  was  still  —  so  very  still,  like  it  is  always,  some 
how,  when  one  of  those  great  yellow  moons  first  comes 
swimming  up  there  in  its  violet  sky.  A  miracle,  a  still 
wonder,  like  God  creating  a  new  world  for  you,  before 
your  eyes ! 

"  It's  getting  late,"  I  said.  "  We  must  decide  where 
we  are  going." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vance,  again. 

And  after  a  while  she  spoke  again. 

"  It's  so  pleasant  here,"  said  Vance,  softly  —  after  a 
long  sleepy  grating  of  the  wheels.  "  So  pleasant  out 
here  in  the  night.  These  great  trees  here  —  some  of  these 
great  groves.  These  great  old  silent  trees  —  and  the 
moon !  It  will  be  light  —  all  night  —  almost.  .  .  . 


FUGITIVES  311 

"  We  could  tie  the  horse  out  somewhere,  tie  out  Dolly 
somewhere.  She'd  be  safe  enough,"  she  said.  "  There'd 
be  no  more  danger  at  all.  All  safe,"  she  whispered, 
"  all  — "  and  stopped  —  trembling. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  my  heart  beating  in  my  throat. 

"  But  this,"  I  said,  and  touched  the  satchel  between  my 
feet,  the  old,  brown  satchel,  with  Hagar's  Hoard  locked 
up  in  it.  . 

"  That  too,"  said  Vance,  "  safe.     Yes,  safe  enough !  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  finally  —  and  was  still  again. 

"Money!"  said  Vance,  softly.     "What's  money?" 

.  .  .  There  was  a  little  brook,  with  just  a  little  water 
running  in  it  after  all  that  dry  summer  heat.  It  flowed 
in  through  the  edge  of  a  great  high  oak  woods,  a  won 
derful  dry  high-roofed  place  to  camp.  And  a  cornfield 
came  up  —  came  up,  one  corner  to  the  trees.  A  corn 
field  —  rustling,  stopping  in  the  faint  wind ;  with  that 
sweet,  warm  weather  smell  of  corn. 

We  tethered  the  old  horse  beneath  the  trees,  a  little 
ways  away  from  us. 

The  wind  came  up  —  and  fell  again  —  like  something 
breathing  —  shaking  and  shivering  in  the  oak  leaves,  up 
there,  over  us  —  and  dying  down  again. 

The  great  fall  moon  came  rising,  rising  in  the  sky  — 
the  violet  sky  —  the  milky  autumn  sky  —  across  that  old 
fragrant  field  of  corn  —  rustling  —  lisping  —  still. 


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